


Making It Work: Viktor and Hermione Year 2

by Chanel19



Series: Fallen [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chanel19/pseuds/Chanel19
Summary: Viktor and Hermione work hard at their relationship despite each of them having doubts. Ron works his way through the available witches of England and elsewhere. Hermione and Ron both struggle with their bond to each other and their misinterpretations of each other's general happiness. Draco gets what's coming to him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Series: Fallen [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056233
Comments: 22
Kudos: 17





	1. January: Home Again

When Viktor and Hermione returned home from Christmas in Bulgaria there was a stack of post waiting for them. Viktor sorted it into two piles while Hermione made tea. She handed him a cup. He handed her the letters. They retired to the parlor to read their mail. After a few minutes, Viktor said, "Ah, we should do this."

"What?" Hermione asked.

" _Quidditch Illustrated_ wants to do a cover story on us."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"I know, but this is an opportunity to present ourselves in a different light from the one _Witch Weekly_ always casts."

Hermione let out a soft snort. "What makes you think it will be different?"

"The Quidditch community loves us," Viktor said.

She quirked her lips at him. "What sort of article?"

"Quidditch's new power couple at home."

Hermione laughed. "Power couple? They actually called us that?"

"What else would you call us?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Well…I mean…" She shook her head. "At home though?"

He handed her the letter. "They want to do a formal cover but then with more casual shots inside. I think this would be good. It will let us be…how do you say it? Regular for people."

"Normalized? You think if people see us at home they'll be less likely to call me a slag in letters to _Witch Weekly_." She let out a soft snort. "I think that's highly optimistic."

"Perhaps, but it would also be good for me to be seen as…"

"Less foreign?" 

He nodded. "That would be good, I think."

She sighed. She knew it was important to him to be accepted by the English fans. "Fine. If it matters that much to you, write them, and tell them we'll do it."

He smiled. "Thank you. You will not regret this."

"If you say so." She waved him away. He hurried off to find a quill and ink.

xXx

A few days later, they were in a photographer's studio off Diagon Alley. Hermione was back in the blood red dress she'd worn to the International Quidditch Association gala. Viktor stood beside her in his navy dress robes. The photographer had them each hold their awards magically floating just above their palms. He had them stand in various poses. Before agreeing to let the article run, Hermione had insisted on right of refusal for the photographs. _Quidditch Illustrated_ had agreed so they had proceeded article. While the main photographer changed film, Viktor and Hermione took a break.

He whispered in her ear, "The slit in that dress is driving me mad, and I didn't get to take it off you properly last time." She suppressed a giggle. He kissed her bare shoulder. "Why won't all these people go away?"

"They work here," she said, smiling.

"Ah, a pity," he murmured against her ear.

"That's got it," the photographer called. They resumed going through the requested poses.

An hour later, they Apparated back to Viktor's flat. "I'm glad that's over," Hermione said.

"Yes," Viktor said, reaching for her. He scooped her up and started for the bedroom. She laughed.

xXx

Two days later, they were in the kitchen making lunch. Viktor was frying bacon for sandwiches and Hermione was magically slicing apples. There was a knock on the door. "I'll get it," he said. "Watch the bacon."

She was pulling the cooked slices from the pan when she heard Viktor talking to someone. As she assembled the sandwiches, Viktor approached the bar between the kitchen and the parlor. From the doorway to the hallway she heard the click of a camera and her eyes widened at Viktor. He smiled apologetically.

"Hello," the photographer said. "Remember me? I'm Paul. We met at the studio the other day."

"Hello," Hermione said turning around. She glanced back at Viktor.

"Is something wrong?" Paul asked.

"You just took my picture," Hermione said.

"Yes. That's just the sort of thing we want."

Hermione frowned at Viktor. "A little warning would've been nice."

"No, no," Paul said. "I didn't want warning. I wanted the truth." He smiled at her. "And the truth is, Hermione Granger eats bacon sandwiches, that she makes herself, just like everyone else. And she does it barefoot in jeans and a flannel shirt." He nodded. "That's compelling stuff."

"Is it though?" Hermione said grimly. "Besides, this article wasn't meant to be about me."

"And it won't be." Paul set his camera down on the kitchen counter. "Look, I know you've been treated shabbily by the press for a while now. You both have, but I'm not interested in gotcha journalism and neither are our readers. They like Quidditch and they like Quidditch players and they like to see them as regular people not just as amazing athletes flying around on brooms most people can't afford, and couldn't stay on if they could afford them."

"I'm not a Quidditch player," Hermione said. "You should be taking pictures of Viktor at home. He cooked the bacon anyway. There's your truth. I was just cutting up apples."

Paul nodded. "Oh, I will be taking pictures of Mr. Krum but I hear you. Still that Quidditch Pitch Cushion has been a wonderful addition to the game. Our readers care about the safety of the players and you've made the game loads safer. Besides, Miss Granger, everyone knows who you are. You're news no matter what you're doing."

"Even when I'm putting together a bacon sandwich," she scoffed.

"Especially then, at least for this kind of article."

She sighed. "Fine. Would you like some lunch?"

Paul grinned broadly. "That'd be grand."

Hermione flicked her wand and the rest of the bread and bacon assembled into sandwiches, which she set on a tray with the apple slices and took it to the table. Viktor got pumpkin juice for everyone. They all took their seats. Paul asked about Viktor's charity work and Viktor was happy to explain all about it. Hermione sat quietly picking at her sandwich. Eventually, she excused herself and went out on to the balcony to smoke a cigarette and continue reading the book she'd been enjoying earlier. She had her toes up on the balcony railing and was scrunched down in the chair with her braid over her shoulder when she heard the camera click again. She sighed and sat up.

"You don't have to do that," Paul said.

"I thought you and Viktor were talking."

"We were. He went to the lav. I thought I'd see what you were doing."

"I'm just reading."

"I can see that."

"But you took a photo anyway," Hermione said scowling.

"Because presumably you read at home on the balcony a lot."

"Why a lot? Maybe this is the first time I've ever done this," she protested.

"It's January," Paul said. "It hardly seems like the time of year you'd suddenly chose to read outside."

"I cast a warming charm," she said.

He stepped toward her and into the charm. "Impressive."

She snorted. "Anyone can cast a warming charm."

"Not one this complex." He touched the hand rail of the balcony. "The railing is warm enough for bare feet but the air is cool enough to be in jeans and a flannel shirt."

She frowned at him.

"You have the lean look of a power user, and since I've been here, you've effortlessly cast charms that most people would never bother with. You use magic constantly, subconsciously, no wonder you were such an asset to Harry Potter."

Hermione stood.

Paul held up his palms. "Don't misunderstand me. None of that is going in the article. This is about Quidditch, not the war, not the Golden Trio. It was just an observation. I'm sorry. I'm a little bit in awe being around you. It's making me talk too much."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "You've got one of the greatest Quidditch players in the last century in there. Go be in awe of him."

Paul nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry."

She glared at him and picked up her book again.

Paul spent the rest of the day with them, chatting about their lives, mostly with Viktor, occasionally snapping a photo, but in general being pleasant and easy to be around. He didn't mention the war or the Golden Trio again.

xXx

In the end, Hermione approved the article and the photos, most of which were blissfully of Viktor: trimming a broom, reading, running along the Thames, but the ones of her in the kitchen and reading on the balcony made it in as well, along with a shot of the two of them playfully chatting while the main photographer changed film. The article was about their current lives, only a cursory reference was made to her role in the war, or his former team. She and Viktor were both pleased with how it turned out. She wished all the articles about there were as fair.


	2. Living in the Present

In Diagon Alley, at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, George was opening the shop windows while Fred set up the till. George glanced down the street to see his baby brother escort two lovely tall blondes out of the alley beside his shop. They each kissed him before Disapparating. Curious, George shouted over his shoulder, "Be back in a tic, Fred."

Ron was just opening the exterior door to the flat above his shop as George came into the alley.

"Good morning, brother," George called.

Ron turned around. "Morning. What are you doing here?"

"Couldn't help noticing your lovely guests as they were leaving." He started up the stairs.

Ron opened the door and stepped inside. George followed. Ron's ears had gone red.

"So, who were the ladies?" George asked.

Ron shrugged.

"Please tell me you at least got their names," George said, frowning.

"One of them was called Olga and the other was called Svet-something. Lana, Lina...it doesn't matter. They were only in town for the Magical Expo. They've got a Portkey back to Sweden this morning."

"Sisters?"

"No. Coworkers, I think. They designed charmed…" He shook his head. "Knives maybe. Or was it hats?"

"How many does that make?" George asked.

"How many what?"

"Women you've slept with since Hermione."

"Fuck off, George."

"Seriously, mate, at the rate you're going, you'll have to go overseas to find a witch you haven't already bedded." George shook his head. "You've got to stop this."

"Shagging? Never."

"You know what I mean," George said earnestly. "What's this about then. Why are you tearing through all of these women?"

"I'm not tearing through anything. They're up for a good time. I'm up for a good time, so we have a good time. They go home or I go home. Everyone is happy."

"You don't seem happy," George said.

Ron glanced down at the current issue of _Quidditch Illustrated_ on the coffee table. He picked it up and tossed it at George. "How am I meant to be happy when she's doing rubbish like this?"

George looked at the cover. Viktor and Hermione stood back to back looking at each other over their shoulders. They each had an award floating above their palms. She was in a one-shouldered dress with a long slit up the side that showed a lot of leg. Her hair was up and smooth, accentuating her neck. Viktor stood next to her in perfectly fitted dress robes looking every bit the exotic athlete with perfectly cut hair and a steely gaze. The headline read _At Home with the New Quidditch Power Couple_. "It's not like this is the first cover of a magazine they've been on."

"I don't care about the bloody cover," Ron growled. "Did you read the article?"

"No," George said, opening the magazine to the central article. He skimmed through it. "What am I looking for?"

Ron let out an exasperated huff and pointed to the picture of a barefoot Hermione making bacon sandwiches. "Look at her."

George looked at the picture. It seemed unremarkable. Hermione had her hair in a braid and was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. She looked much sexier with Viktor on the cover. "I don't get it."

"She could be seventeen in that photo. That could've been taken when we were on the run."

Ron's anguish was clear to George but he didn't quite get it. "I don't—"

"She's at home there. She's in his flat and she's at home!" Ron shouted. "She's never leaving him. She's making bacon sandwiches and standing around in her bare feet. She lives there."

"She's lived with him for months. You know that," George said, concern creeping up his spine.

"No!" Ron said, flipping the magazine back to the cover and stabbing his index finger at the picture of Hermione. "She's lived there for months. I don't know that woman." He reopened it to the center spread of photos and pointed to the photo of Hermione in the kitchen. "I know this woman." He pointed to the photo of her reading on the balcony. "This woman," he said, his voice cracking. "My Hermione. My Hermione is living with Viktor now." He dropped down on the sofa. "I'm fucked. It doesn't matter what I do. She's never coming back to me."

George was stunned to realize Ron had been holding out hope that Hermione would come back to him. He'd assumed because Ron never mentioned her that he was past that. When he'd seen them together at various functions, they'd both seemed fine, perhaps a bit cool, but civil. "I didn't realize," he said.

"What?" Ron asked.

"That you still loved her," George answered honestly.

"I wish I didn't. It's a bloody lost cause."

"Come on," George said. "There are a lot of fish in the sea. You'll meet someone else. Stop running around and actually date someone. You'll see. There are a lot of amazing women in the world."

Ron arched an eyebrow at him. "An expert on women now are you, George?"

For a second George thought Ron might know he was gay, but he dismissed that thought almost immediately. "I've had my fair share," he said defensively.

Ron snorted. "Whatever. I don't want a lot of amazing women. I just want the one."

George rolled his eyes. "So, what? You're never going to get married and have children because a girl you met when you were eleven doesn't want to be with you anymore. Come off it. That's ridiculous."

"Yeah," Ron said. "It would be, if that was all there was to it, but it's not, and we both know that."

George sighed. "What did you do?"

Ron looked at him. They'd come to blows over that question after Harry and Ginny's wedding when George had taken a very drunk Hermione home. Ron considered telling George to fuck off, but instead, he said, "I destroyed us."

"How?" George asked quietly.

Ron shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I can't fix it, so there's no point getting into it." He stood. "I've got to get ready for work. See yourself out, all right?" He went down the hall toward the bathroom.

A moment later, George heard the shower turn on. He sighed and went back to the shop.


	3. February: Venice

When the Portkey landed Hermione on the roof of the Hotel Cipriani in Venice, she knew immediately that she had never stayed in a hotel this lavish. On one side there was an amazing view of the lagoon. On the other side was St. Mark's Square and the Doges Palace. She used her wand to open the door that accessed the stairwell and made her way to the room number Viktor had given her. She was surprised to find it on the top floor. She knocked. Viktor opened the door looking very pleased with himself. Hermione stepped into the most luxurious hotel room she'd ever been in, which was something, because they'd stayed in some really nice places.

"Well?" Viktor stood in the center of the parlor waving an arm to take in an amazing view of St. Mark's Square. "What do you think?"

"I think it looks like a Canaletto painting."

"Right?" Viktor was clearly delighted at her reaction. "That is what I thought."

"You just…booked this?" She knew it must cost a fortune.

"Actually, no. The sponsor of the Italian National team is a fan, and the next two nights are on him."

"Wow." Hermione walked around. A massive king-sized bed graced the bedroom that had a vast marble ensuite bathroom with a tub that seemed more like a small pool. She ran her hand over silk sheets. Coming back into the parlor, she set her bag down on the coffee table and took a seat on the plush, velvet sofa that afforded her that beautiful view. Viktor sat next to her and put his arm around her. "You are pleased?"

"Yes. Who wouldn't be pleased? This is amazing." She had visions of a long, hot bath followed by a long, hot night in silk sheets with Viktor. She'd had a tough few weeks of sixteen-hour days and sleeping in the narrow bed in her rooms at the Department of Mysteries while Viktor had been playing away games in Europe. The sofa was so comfortable though, part of her didn't want to get up from where she'd already settled.

Viktor winked at her. "I have another surprise."

"Oh?"

He popped up from the sofa and went into the bedroom. He came out carrying a large garment bag which he proceeded to unzip. Inside was a floor-length scarlet ball gown. "We are going to a masquerade ball tonight?"

"Tonight?" Her dreams of a long bath and an even longer shag evaporated.

"Yes, it is the best party of the year, the opening of Carneval. The whole team is going. What do you think?"

She smiled. "It's beautiful."

He smiled back at her and returned the dress to the bedroom before coming back and holding out a hand to her. "Come, we will take a bath and then have some dinner before the party starts."

xXx

Two hours into the party, all Hermione wanted to do was go back to the suite. The party was Rococo themed with everyone wearing historically accurate costumes. The dress she was wearing, although beautiful, was heavy. Her feet were tired of being in heels. Dancing the minuet and canary to song after song had left her exhausted, but the worst was the mask. The round black mask was featureless as women's masks during the Rococo period had been. Back then, the women were meant to hold the mask in place by biting on a button, thus keeping them silent and not allowing them to eat or drink. Hermione had to do no such nonsense, since she used a sticking charm, but the mask irritated her nonetheless. Viktor was dashing in his period dress robes, but the beaked white mask he was wearing was almost as irritating to her as her own mask. She detested masks and everyone in the overcrowded room was wearing one of the wretched things. It wouldn't have been so bad if she was any good at Legilimency, but she'd never been even remotely proficient at it, so it was hard to keep everyone straight. At least Viktor and all his teammates were wearing gold crossed bulrush pins. She sighed and nudged her mask up to take another drink of her Aperol spritz. She was on her fourth and they were starting to taste pretty good. At least they were refreshing after all the dancing. Viktor had gone off to the loo, so she stood leaning against the bar trying to think of a reasonable excuse for leaving early. A man leaned over the bar next to her trying to get the bartender's attention. Something about the color of his hair drew her eye. It was the white blonde that Draco's had been, but Draco was on the run, he certainly wouldn't be at a masquerade ball in Venice. Then the man spoke in Draco's sneering drawl. Something caused him to glance at her. As his grey eyes met hers, she knew it was him, and he knew it was her.

In typical Draco fashion, he immediately began to run, but the crowds worked against him. He was desperate to get to the terrace where he could Disapparate. There were wards set up around the ballroom, but once people realized there was some kind of altercation going on, everyone started heading outdoors. Unfortunately, that worked against Hermione too. She couldn't draw her wand and cast Incarcerous without the risk of hitting someone else. With all the spritzes she'd had to drink, she didn't trust her aim, so she did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed him. 

Draco threw an elbow, and caught her in the face, but her mask absorbed most of the impact, falling off in the process. She grabbed at his face in an attempt to gouge an eye, but caught his mask instead, yanking it from his face, which is when Oliver caught sight of them from across the room.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted and turned to one of his teammates. "Go get the Aurors! That's Draco Malfoy!"

Not knowing where to find the Venetian Aurors, his teammate ran toward the hotel lobby to find the concierge. Oliver began to fight his way through the crowd toward Hermione, shouting for his other teammates as he went.

Hermione cast a wandless, non-verbal tripping jinx, and she and Draco both hit the ground. He elbowed her in the face again, this time connecting with her nose. She grabbed for his waistcoat, pulling herself up his body as he tried to squirm away from her.

"Get off me, you Mudblood bitch!" He rolled toward her trying to throw off her grip, bringing his head tantalizingly close to her mouth. She bit down. Draco screamed and brought his knee up into her ribs, knocking the wind out of her, which caused her to loosen her grip. He scrambled to his feet and brought his heel down on the side of her face before squeezing through the crowd and for the door. Oliver knelt to help Hermione but shouted for his teammates to get Draco.

xXx

Viktor left the lavatory in time to see people running from the ballroom in all directions. He pushed against the tide of the crowd to get back into the room. Some people had removed their masks, others were still wearing them, but he didn't see anyone who looked like Hermione or any of his teammates leaving with the throng. As he pushed through the crowds he caught glimpses of Hermione wrestling with someone. He heard Oliver shouting. When he finally made it to the bar, Hermione was unmasked and sitting on the floor with Oliver beside her. His other teammates were coming back inside looking dejected. Hermione plucked Oliver's handkerchief from his dress coat and wiped her mouth.

"What happened?" Viktor asked Oliver and Hermione.

"That's what I'd like to know," a large man in red, yellow, and navy striped robes said. "I understand you caused this stampede."

Hermione spit out blood and looked at him through her one open eye, the other was swollen shut. "I was attempting to apprehend a wanted criminal."

"And you are?" the large man asked.

"Hermione Granger."

"And your authority to apprehend anyone would be?"

She closed her eye for a moment. "I'm going to need to draw my wand."

The large man held his wand on her. "Go ahead."

She carefully withdrew her wand from a hidden pocket inside he ballgown and closed her eye again. It was difficult to block out the room, the pain in her face and side, but she pushed all that back until her mind was filled with a memory, a perfect moment on a warm fall day laughing by the lake at Hogwarts with Ron. She called forth her Patronus and thought about what she needed. The silver otter slipped off at the speed of light. She looked up at the large man in the striped robes standing over her. "My authority will be here in a few minutes," she said thickly.

"She needs a healer," Viktor said sternly.

"No one is coming or going," the large man said, "until we sort this out."

Viktor looked around to see several other witches and wizards in striped robes moving throughout the room and interviewing everyone who hadn't managed to get outside and Apparate away.

xXx

Harry and Ginny were getting ready for bed when the silver otter slipped in through the wall and stood before Harry. "Harry, please," the otter said. "I need you. I'm in Venice in the Grand Ballroom of the Hotel Cipriani." Hermione's voice sounded thick as though she had a bad cold. "I've just had a fight with Draco. We can get him. Bring Aurors. Ask the Minister to speak to the Italian Minister on my behalf. Come quickly. Please, Harry."

Harry looked at Ginny as he pulled his wand and cast his own Patronus. He sent the Stag off into the night to find the Minister of Magic. "I'm going to the Auror office for an emergency Portkey. I'm not sure when I'll be back. Can you send your Patronus to Hermione? Tell her I'm coming."

Ginny nodded. "Be careful. I love you."

Harry smiled at her and gave her a quick kiss. "I will. I love you too." He Disapparated.

xXx

A couple of minutes later, a silver horse stood before Hermione. In Ginny's clear voice it said. "He's coming."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry, four English Aurors, and the Italian Minister of Magic all marched into the Grand Ballroom of the Hotel Cipriani. Hermione was still sitting on the floor. She held Viktor's, as well as several of his teammates', handkerchiefs to her still bleeding nose. Oliver's remained crumpled in her other hand.

Harry turned to Viktor. "Why hasn't anyone gotten her a healer?"

"Ask this knob job," Oliver said, pointing to the large Venetian Auror in the striped robes whose eyes had gone huge at the sight of Harry's lightening shaped scar.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Italian Minister of Magic shouted at the Venetian Aurors. A loud discussion in rapid-fire Italian ensued. Harry ignored all of that and knelt next to Hermione. "Are you all right?" he asked, slipping a bloody curl behind her ear.

"I'll be fine," she said.

"What happened?"

She told him.

"Did you hit him with anything we can trace?"

"You can track him using this." She unfolded Oliver's handkerchief to reveal part of Draco's bloody ear. "I bit it off."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face. "You're brilliant, really, really brilliant. We've got him. We can track him anywhere now. Oh, Hermione, I'd kiss you, but I think that would probably hurt."

"Please don't. Just go get him."

Harry nodded and got to his feet and whistled loudly. Conversation stopped. "We can track Malfoy." He pulled his wand. He looked down at Hermione. "I'll be back. Let's go," he said to the British Aurors.

The senior Venetian Auror frowned at Viktor and Oliver. "You're all free to go."

Viktor scowled at him as he and Oliver helped Hermione to her feet.

"Do you want me to Apparate us to our room?" Viktor asked.

"No. I think I might have broken some things. Best to take the elevator," she said.

As they moved slowly toward the ballroom doors, it became obvious that there was press waiting outside. Oliver shouted a formation command and the rest of Puddlemere United drew around them as though they were all flying into the stadium in a tight grouping. The effect was that Viktor and Hermione were barely visible as the entire group made their way slowly to the lobby elevators. Flash bulbs went off anyway and questions were shouted, but to no effect. When they reached the top floor, Viktor asked Khan to go get Healer Krastevich. He thanked everyone else and he and Oliver continued down the hall on either side of Hermione while the rest of the team peeled off to go to their own rooms.

Once inside, Viktor cast an Impervious charm on the sofa, so Hermione wouldn't get blood all over it. They got her settled.

"There's no need for a healer," Hermione said. "Just get me a mirror. I can manage this."

"Do not be ridiculous," Viktor said sternly. "You have been drinking. One slip and you can mess up your face. Healer Krastevich is very good. Let her do it."

Hermione sighed but didn't argue.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Oliver went to let the healer in. Healer Krastevich was only a few years older than Viktor, but she already had gray streaked through her dark hair, which she'd pulled into a sloppy bun. She was wearing long, lime green healer's robes and carried a large, official looking black leather bag, but pajama pants with little orange cats on a light blue background were clearly visible under her robes. Hermione smiled. "I love ginger cats."

Krastevich looked at Viktor. "Has she been drinking?"

"Yes," Viktor said.

The healer sighed. "We need to get her out of this outfit so I can see where all she's injured."

"That's my cue to leave," Oliver said.

"Do not go," Viktor said. "We will just take her into the bedroom."

"Okay." Oliver sat down in one of the wing chairs.

Viktor and the healer got Hermione into the bedroom and in bed. Her ballgown appeared to be a total loss. One sleeve was almost torn off, the entire front was covered in blood and the hem of the skirt was ripped along the bottom of one side. Viktor sighed and cast Deliquesco to remove all her clothes, leaving Hermione naked. 

The healer did a quick assessment and pulled her wand. "You have an orbital fracture, two broken ribs and a broken nose. This will hurt a bit." Krastevich cast four spells and the bones could be heard snapping back into place. Hermione flinched with each spell. The healer leaned over and looked at the angry red scar on Hermione's side. "When was the last time you had this checked?"

"It's fine," Hermione said, and reached for the covers.

The healer shook her head. "It's not fine. You need it seen to regularly. It was clearly a significant injury. Not some broken bones that can be fixed and forgotten."

Hermione glared at her. "I assure you, I haven't forgotten it."

Krastevich frowned at her. "If you don't have the scar tissue broken up, it will never fade to white."

"The one on my chest did," Hermione argued.

Krastevich looked at the scar between her breasts. "Different curse."

"There's one on her back as well," Viktor said, which got him a furious glare from Hermione.

"Let me see," Krastevich said.

Hermione frowned but sat up so the healer could see her back.

"This one is better. Weaker curse I should think. I'm surprised it even scarred."

"She didn't get immediate care," Viktor said.

"Oh?" Krastevich said.

"It was hours, almost half a day before she was seen to," Viktor said.

"That'll do it," Krastevich said. She looked at Hermione. "Given your history, I understand the hospital is not a place you want to go, so I'll make a deal with you. Come see me at the training grounds once a week, and I'll work on that scar for you."

"You would do that?" Viktor said.

"Yes," Krastevich said. "It would be an honor."

Hermione blushed. "I'll think about it."

Krastevich nodded. "In the meantime, get some rest and don't lift anything heavier than a pound or two for a couple of days. You shouldn't leave the room until tomorrow evening either. Those bones need to completely heal."

Hermione nodded. "I'll take it easy. Thank you."

Healer Krastevich nodded. "Come see me next week."

"She will," Viktor said. "I will walk you out."

"Before you go," Hermione said. "Do you think I could get some dreamless sleep draught?"

The healer looked at her and nodded. She removed a small brown bottle from her bag and handed it to Hermione. "Eight drops before bed."

Hermione nodded. "I know the dose."

Viktor walked Healer Krastevich to the door and Hermione went into the bathroom to take a shower.

xXx

Viktor came back into the suite and sat on the sofa across from Oliver. He noticed Oliver had cleaned up all the blood and removed the charm from the sofa. "Thank you…for everything."

Oliver nodded. "Happy to do it. I can't believe she got that bastard."

"You know the man she bit?" Viktor said darkly.

"Yeah," Oliver said. "Draco Malfoy, a right bastard that one."

"The name sounds vaguely familiar," Viktor said.

"Blonde ponce, he was in Slytherin house same year as Harry and Hermione. Pranced around like he owned the place, even as a first year."

"I remember him now. He played Quidditch. Talked to me like he was as good as I am."

Oliver snorted. "I'm not surprised. Apparently, he only got worse with age. I wasn't there, but from what I heard, he was a Death Eater starting in his sixth year. He was the one that let them into the castle. He's also accused of giving a dark object to a student, and poisoning another. Both from Gryffindor house and the one that got poisoned was—"

"Her ex?"

"Ron Weasley, yeah," Oliver said.

"Harry saved him with a bezoar," Viktor said. "She told me that story."

"Right. Thing is, Viktor, something all Gryffindors learned pretty quick, once those three were friends, was don't mess with Ron or Harry, or that girl will get you."

"Even if she has to wrestle you to the ground and bite off your ear?" 

Oliver nodded. "Even if."

Viktor scratched at the late day stubble on his cheek. "I do not know how to feel about that."

"If I were you, I'd feel proud. You're bedding one badass witch. I told you that the first time we had dinner, she's a bloody national treasure."

 _Bloody is right,_ Viktor thought. "And it would not bother you if the woman you were dating bit off another man's ear?"

Oliver laughed. "The last woman I dated was so crazy, I'd be shocked if she hadn't bitten off someone's ear."

Viktor nodded. "She was mental that one." He shook his head. "But Hermione is…I do not know…"

"Surely, you're not going to break up with her for bringing down a known fugitive."

"No. Of course not. Look, I know you adore her, but she can be very…difficult."

Oliver snorted again. "Here's some news for you, laddie, you're no walk in the park yourself."

Viktor didn't understand what Oliver was saying. "Why would I walk in—"

"You're difficult too," Oliver said. "Cut her some slack, and if you decide not to, don't worry, they'll line up soon enough to take your place."

Viktor frowned.

"You know I'm right," Oliver said. "She's powerful, famous, a member of the Golden Bloody Trio, not to mention she's got a good job, a house in London, and she's not bad looking. What more do you want?"

 _I want her past not to be so present_ , Viktor thought, but he said, "Nothing. You are right. I am just upset about tonight's events."

"Of course, you are," Oliver said, leaning over and whacking Viktor on the knee. "Get some sleep. Things will be better in the morning."

The door to the bedroom opened, and Hermione came out in a gown and one of the hotel's plush bathrobes. Her hair was in a long braid down her back. "Oh, Oliver, you're still here."

"Yeah." Oliver stood. "But I'm on my way out."

"Listen," Hermione said, catching his arm. "Thank you…for everything tonight. You were wonderful. Really." She hugged him.

"Happy to help," Oliver said, hugging her back. "Us Gryffindors have to stick together."

"Too right," Hermione said with a smile, stepping back.

"Goodnight then," Oliver said. Viktor and Hermione wished him the same and he left.

Hermione sat in the wing chair Oliver had vacated.

"I thought you were going to take a sleeping draught," Viktor said.

"I was, but Harry's Patronus just came into the bathroom. They've already caught Draco and are on their way back to England with him. Harry's on his way here."

Viktor raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you not going to get dressed?"

"For Harry?" Hermione scoffed. "No. I'm dead on my feet. He's not going to care how I'm dressed."

 _I care_ , Viktor thought, but held his tongue.

Hermione leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. Her face was yellow and shiny in places where she'd applied bruise removal paste. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Viktor went to let Harry in. "She's exhausted," Viktor said before ushering Harry inside.

"I'm sure. I won't be long. Hermione?" he said, as he came into the suite.

She opened her eyes. "Did you get him?"

Harry smiled and sat on the sofa across from her. "Absolutely. I shouted for him to halt, but he seemed to have a little trouble hearing." That got him a half smile from Hermione. "So, I cast Incarcerous, and now he's on his way to a holding cell at the Ministry."

"Good," Hermione said. "It's about bloody time."

"Indeed," Harry said. "We couldn't have done it without you. Brilliant of you thinking to bite him."

Hermione blushed. "Well…" she said, glancing at Viktor. "Heat of the moment."

"I can't wait to tell Ron when he gets back," Harry said.

"Back?"

"Yeah, he's in Kenya at a big trade conference. Coming back in a few days though. He's going to hate that he missed this."

Hermione smiled tightly.

"Right," Harry said, standing. "I need to get back. So much paperwork."

"I'm sure," Hermione said.

Harry leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Goodnight."

She squeezed his fingers. "Goodnight."

Viktor walked him to the door. They exchanged goodnights.

Harry turned to say something about looking after Hermione, but Viktor had already closed the door. Harry sighed and stood in the hall for a long moment. It seemed wrong to leave her there. He should be bringing her home to the Burrow, to the family, where she could be seen to. He shook his head and couldn't help feeling like it was somehow Ron's fault.

xXx

When Viktor went back into the suite's parlor, Hermione was still sitting in the wing chair with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. "Are you not going to bed?"

"I'm trying to work up the energy to stand."

He sat on the sofa. He was still trying to process the night's events and her role in them.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You should get some sleep."

She narrowed her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just did not expect our evening to go like this." He knew it sounded lame even as he said it.

She frowned at him. "Well, it's not exactly how I expected our evening to go either, but it's not as if I had much choice."

He frowned back at her. "Really?"

"Really."

"You had no other choice but to wrestle a man to the ground and bite off his ear?" Viktor said, appalled to even say it.

Her face went hard. "I only bit off part of his ear. And no, I didn't have a choice. The room was too crowded to use magic."

"You couldn't have just called for the Aurors and let them deal with it?"

"That would have taken too long and he would've gotten away again. Draco managed to avoid capture for three years. If I'd let him get away, he likely would've continued avoiding it."

"And capturing him was so important you would roll around on the floor and bite him like an animal?"

"Yes." She leaned toward him. "He let a rampaging werewolf into Hogwarts. He almost killed Katie Bell. He would've killed Ron if Harry hadn't found that bezoar. I'm fairly certain he was involved in the murder of my parents, if not directly, then certainly indirectly. Pretty soon he'll go to trial, and they'll give him Veritaserum, and then I'll know. So, yes, it was worth rolling around on the floor and biting him."

Viktor nodded, but he'd gone pale. They sat in silence for a long moment. When it was clear Viktor wasn't going to respond, Hermione stood and started walking toward the bedroom. Irritation with him gave her the strength she needed to get up.

"I have never seen it, Hermione. It was a shock."

She turned to look at him. "What?"

"The warrior." He looked away. "You always downplay that."

She frowned, but then sighed. "Well, it's not as if I'm any good at it. Fisticuffs aren't my strong suit, as is evidenced by the fact that I ended up on the floor with broken bones, and Draco got away."

"Only he didn't," Viktor said grimly, "because you bit off part of his ear."

"That's right."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Viktor got to his feet. "Come. We should get you to bed."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and let him lead her to bed. She was afraid he wouldn't be able to stand the thought of what she'd done. With a sigh, she settled under the covers as he went to brush his teeth and change out of his clothes. He was clearly appalled by her behavior tonight even if he hadn't voiced that specifically. She thought again of biting down on Draco's ear, of the iron taste of blood and slippery feel of that piece of flesh in her mouth. A shiver ran through her and she gagged for a moment, but shook it off. It was done. He was caught, and in a few weeks, she'd finally have some answers. She shifted in bed trying to get comfortable but there was still a dull ache in her side where the healer had mended her broken ribs. Her face was even more tender, but she knew by tomorrow the pain would be mostly gone. She closed her eyes. Viktor was right though, she did downplay the role she'd had in the fighting. She didn't like to think of the injuries and even deaths that were down to her.

Viktor came out of the bathroom and over to her side of the bed. "You should take the draught." He picked up the little bottle Healer Krastevich had left for her. Hermione dutifully opened her mouth and he put eight drops under her tongue. She was asleep before he reached his side of the bed.

xXx

Hermione woke the next morning, to find Viktor sitting up in bed reading the paper. He looked down at her. "You are awake."

"Yes." She pushed back her hair. "What time is it?"

"Half nine."

Hermione yawned.

"How are your ribs?" He set aside the paper.

"They feel fine?" She sat up.

"And your face?"

Hermione touched her cheek. "Still a little tender, but that should go away by the end of the day."

His eyes searched her face. "The bruising is almost gone." He tucked a curl behind her ear. "I am sorry about last night. I was taken off guard. I did not handle it well."

Hermione leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. "You handled it fine. Believe me, I don't like it any more than you do when the war comes rushing back into my life. Hopefully, Draco will go to trial soon and then that will be the end of it."

He nodded, but the concern remained on his face. She cupped his cheek and kissed him again. "When the trial is over, I want to go somewhere warm for a few weeks to let things calm down."

"Yes," he said. "That would be good. I can make that happen."

She kissed him again. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," he said and kissed her, easing her back against the sheets as he did.

"Careful there. Mind the ribs."

"Do not worry. I will be very, very gentle."

She smiled, letting thoughts of last night's havoc and the upcoming trial slip away for a little while.


	4. Stay the Course

Harry and Ginny were having a late breakfast the next morning when an owl arrived. Harry had been out into the wee hours of the morning making sure Draco was secure in the holding cells at the Ministry, and all the paperwork was processed correctly to assure nothing would prevent him from going to trial. Despite the fact that he wasn't an Auror, Harry often worked with them and was deeply respected by everyone in the Ministry, so no one questioned his attention to the matter. Ginny removed the letter from the owl's leg and handed it to Harry. "Ron," she said.

Harry opened the letter to find Ron's scrawled handwriting.

_I just saw the paper. Is she alright? I'll be home tonight._

Harry slid the note over to Ginny. He hadn't looked at the paper yet, so he pulled over their copy of the _Daily Prophet_. On the front page was a massive headline: Malfoy Caught. Below that was a photo of Harry and the Aurors bringing Draco into the Ministry building. The story was fairly accurate for the _Prophet_ , giving Hermione credit for finding Draco and biting off part of his ear so he could be traced, but still they mostly touted Harry's role. Below the fold was another large photo, this one of Viktor and Hermione, surrounded by Puddlemere United, moving through the hotel lobby. The photographer had had a lucky break and managed a shot between the shoulders of two of the Quidditch players that showed Hermione's battered face. Harry sighed and looked back at Ron's note. "Dobby can you get me a piece of parchment and a quill?"

A moment later, everything he needed to respond to Ron appeared on the table. He stared at the blank parchment unsure of how to answer. He knew Hermione's injuries were healed, but he suspected that wasn't really what Ron was referring to. As for her emotional state, Harry was less sure, but there was nothing Ron could do about that anyway. He sighed again and wrote:

_She's okay. Gin and I are looking forward to seeing you._

He looked at Ginny. "I don't know what else to say." She leaned forward to look at what he'd written.

"What else can you say? It's not like he can do anything."

"I hate this."

She stroked his cheek. "I know you do, love, but you can't fix it for them."

He pressed his cheek more firmly into her hand and glanced back at Ron's note. They almost never used Hermione's name. Hermione was the eternal 'she' between them. No need for a name. Harry missed them both so much. Even though he saw Ron regularly, Ron without Hermione wasn't really the Ron he knew. For Harry, Hermione's absence in his life was like a missing limb, a smarter, bossier limb that made him a better version of himself. He could only imagine what her loss was like for Ron. He looked at Ginny, who made him feel like a man not an icon. Ginny, whose love and understanding soothed all ills, was an essential part of his life. He couldn't imagine what his life would be like without her. He thought of Ron's dogged determination to succeed and the endless stream of women that paraded by his side as if he thought, if he kept switching them out, he'd find one that fit like Hermione. So far none of them had. He seemed like a hearty projection of himself lately, rather than his true self. Hermione too seemed always to be wearing a mask in public. With the exception of a few candid instances, in most photos, she had the same look of fierce determination. Her expression screamed "I'm not bothered" in a way that only made her seem more broken. That the press photographer at the hotel managed to catch her without her mask only made it worse to her see her hurt. He wondered if Ron thought that too. He sighed and folded the note and attached it to the owl's leg and sent it on its way. Looking at Ginny, he smiled. "I love you so much."

"Right back at you, Potter," she said, and pulled him into a hug.

xXx

Harry was surprised not to hear from Ron later that night. Generally, when he return from travel, he'd stop by to see Harry and Ginny straight away. When they didn't see him the next day at breakfast either, Harry decided to stop by Ron's flat before going home after work. It was almost seven o'clock. Ron's shop closed at six and Harry was generally done at Hogwarts by five, but he'd had a consultation with a seventh year who was struggling to cast a Patronus. Harry Apparated to Diagon Alley right in front of Ron's building and made his way up to Ron's flat. He knocked on the door but there was no answer. He knocked again, louder this time, and heard a mumbled response, but Ron didn't come to the door. Harry waited a couple of minutes and then drew his wand and cast Alohomora. The door opened and he poked his head inside. Ron was sitting on the floor in front of his sofa with his head in his hands. There was a half empty bottle of Ogden's and the newspaper with the photo of Hermione at the hotel in Venice next to him.

"Oh, Ron," Harry said. He hadn't seen Ron drunk for almost a year.

Ron looked up at him bleary-eyed. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd check on you. You usually come to see us when you get back from a trip."

"Yeah. Sorry."

Harry sighed. "I'll fix you some coffee." He went into Ron's small kitchen and opened cabinets until he found a bag of instant coffee next to a box of chamomile and another of Yorkshire Gold tea. He used his wand to fill the kettle and then cast a spell to make it boil.

He went back into the parlor with a cup of strong coffee. He handed one to Ron who was still sitting on the floor. "Drink that."

Ron looked at the black coffee and reluctantly took a sip. "Thanks."

Harry took a seat in a leather arm chair and waited. They sat in silence until Harry couldn't take it anymore. "What happened? Why are you drunk?"

Ron shook his head sadly. "I fucked up."

"Why? What happened in Kenya?"

"Not in Kenya. Kenya was great. The conference went well. I met this wonderful woman, who showed me around. It was a good time right up until I went to the Nairobi Ministry of Magic to get my Portkey home." He closed his eyes. "They had a rack of International papers, so I picked up the _Prophet_ to look at while I stood in line and there she was. And then I remembered I was coming back to nothing."

Harry scowled at him. "You didn't come back to nothing. You've got family, friends, a successful business. That's not nothing. For a lot of people, that would be everything."

Ron shook his head. "But I don't have her. What's the point of the money if I don't have her? It's my fault. I bollocksed the whole thing up."

Harry decided to seize the opportunity of Ron's drunken state to possibly get the real story of what happened between him and Hermione. "How?"

Ron shook his head. "She left."

"I know that," Harry said, trying to rein in his impatience. "But why did she leave?"

"Because I'm shit," Ron said. "I'm shit and now I'll never get her back because she has Krum and apparently his whole bloody Quidditch team. Do you see the way they've got her covered? She's never coming back to me. It doesn't matter how much money I have. It doesn't matter that I'm sober now. None of it matters. She loves Viktor."

"You're not shit," Harry said firmly. He didn't point out that Ron wasn't sober at the moment, but instead decided to take a risk and say something that Ginny would most definitely not approve of. "Besides, I don't think she does love Viktor. Not in the way you mean anyway."

Ron looked up at him. "What are you saying?"

Harry shook his head, already regretting that he'd gone down this path, but in for a penny, in for a pound. "When I saw her in London, after that photo of her appeared in the paper, the one from the hospital in Paris…"

Ron nodded and took a long drink of his coffee as though he was desperate to be clear headed to hear this.

"She and I had a bit of a row." He cleared his throat. "I was upset that she was moving in with Viktor. The way she talked about it…it was so…I don't know…resigned maybe."

"Resigned?" Ron said. He got up and sat down on the sofa across from Harry. He leaned toward him. "How do you mean?"

"She just wasn't excited about it. She talked about it in completely practical terms as if geography alone was reason to move in with someone. It was disturbing how blasé she was."

"But she's been with him for over a year now. Why would she stay if she wasn't in love with him? Why would she move in with him? That doesn't make sense."

Harry nodded. "That's what I'm saying. What happened between you two?"

Ron shook his head. "I want her back."

"I know but—"

"If you're right, and she doesn't love him, then maybe I can get her back."

"Ron," Harry said, absolutely sure Ginny was going to kill him if she ever found out about this conversation. "Maybe you shouldn't focus on that so much. Maybe—"

"What?" Ron said. "Date around? Focus on work? I've done that, but I'm running out of witches to date, and I'm not interested in Muggle women. The shop is doing really well. I want the next step and no matter how I look at it, I want that step to be with her."

"Have you told her that?" Harry asked.

"How can I?" Ron said. "She's still with bloody Krum, isn't she?"

"Does that really matter? How does that prevent you having a conversation? It's not like you and Krum are mates. Are you really that worried about his feelings if you talk to her?"

"No, of course not. It's not about him. It's her. When I've seen her, she can barely stand to look at me. She won't let me within arms-length. You know that."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Why is that?"

Ron shook his head again, avoiding the answer. "Maybe I just need to stay the course, like I did with the Quidditch cushion. You know, be there when I can. Be her best mate again if she'll let me."

Harry frowned at him. "But she won't let you."

Ron looked at him and sighed. "Right. The cushion thing was a fluke. Right place at the right time. And it was that bloke she was with that agreed to let me help. That's not likely to happen again soon."

"No," Harry agreed. "If you want to change things with her you're going to need to be more proactive. Waiting around to see her isn't likely to get you anywhere fast."

"The trial is coming up," Ron said. "Maybe I can approach her then. Puddlemere United has a match the night before, so maybe Viktor won't be with her."

"Maybe," Harry said. That Ron seemed to know Viktor's game schedule off the top of his head was worrying.

Ron finished his coffee. "I'll see her at the trial. That'll be good."

"Sure," Harry said, but he had his doubts about how good it would be to approach Hermione at Draco's trial, when she would probably be upset, but he didn't say anything to Ron, who seemed to take heart and got up to make another cup of coffee.


	5. March: Trials and Tribulations

In the weeks leading up to Draco's trial, Hermione had trouble focusing, even at work, which wasn't like her. She found it particularly distressing not to able to lose herself in research, and found herself going home early each day and hitting the bottle quite hard in order to fall asleep at night. Viktor was back and forth for Quidditch matches. When he was home, she reined in the drinking. When he was away, she didn't bother.

Viktor was supposed to be on a five-day streak of away games when he caught the Snitch extremely early in the last match and came home early in the afternoon instead of that night or even the next day as he normally would.

Hermione was asleep on the sofa in his flat. She stirred when she heard the pop of him Apparating into the parlor.

He muttered an expletive under his breath and went into the kitchen. She was sitting up when he came back out. "What are you doing?" he said, holding up a mostly empty bottle of Ogden's Fire Whiskey.

"What?" she grumbled, pushing her hair back and getting to her feet. "I had a few drinks last night, so what?"

"Given the state of the bin, it was more than a few and more than just last night."

"I can't sleep, all right? If have a few drinks, I fall asleep," she said. Her mouth felt like an ashtray.

He frowned at her. "You have to stop this."

"I just need to get through the trial, okay?"

He shook his head. "No. This has been going on for weeks. I know you think you've been hiding it from me, but I'm not blind, Hermione."

"Just let me get through the bloody trial!" she shouted. She went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her and cast a locking charm for good measure and then a silencing charm, so she couldn't hear him shouting from the other side of the door. She started the shower.

xXx

Viktor paced in the parlor. He'd tried following her into the bathroom, but she'd locked him out. "You are impossible!" he shouted at the door, but he knew she probably couldn't hear him. She generally followed a locking charm with a silencing spell. He looked around the room. Her clothes were strewn everywhere. An overflowing ashtray was on the coffee table even though he had repeatedly asked her not to smoke inside. Apparently, she had decided that only meant when he was at home. Growling out a few more expletives about her and her habits, he drew his wand and began cleaning the flat. When he was done, he took a seat in the armchair facing the bathroom door and waited for her to emerge. She did about an hour after she went in there. She was wrapped in her bathrobe and was clearly intending to go to their bedroom and change when he called her name. She stopped in the hall, her back to him, and he wondered if she would turn around. To her credit, she did and came and stood before him.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I know you don't like me smoking inside, and I know I've been drinking too much lately. I had intended to clean things up before you got home. I assume you won. You must have caught the Snitch early to be back so soon."

In spite of himself, he smiled. "We did win, although theoretically, the other Seeker could have caught the Snitch early, and I would still be home. But yes, I caught it just twenty minutes into the game." He sighed. "Sit. Please."

She cinched her robe tighter and sat on the sofa across from him. "Thank you for clearing up in here," she said.

He knew what she was doing. She was being conciliatory and polite, and in a minute, she would slip into his lap and distract him from the matter at hand, but today he was not in the mood to be distracted. "I am worried about you."

"You needn't be. I told you, I just need to get through the trial. I'm on edge is all."

"I understand that," Viktor said. "But, this behavior is very bad for you. Every time I leave now, I worry about what I will find when I come home. I cannot take off work to stay with you. I am sorry. I would if I could."

"I know that, but I'm not asking you to. I'll be fine."

He shook his head. "You are not fine."

"But I will be. I just—"

"The trial is not for another week. You cannot go on like this. You need someone to come and stay with you or you need to go stay with someone else until the trial. You need looking after, Hermione, and I cannot do it right now."

She shook her head. "I'm not a child. I don't need to be minded."

"No," he agreed. "You are not a child. You are an adult suffering from very adult problems. You need help."

She shook her head again, but a tear slipped down her cheek.

"I am not trying to upset you. I am only saying you should not be alone right now."

"Who would you have me turn to, Viktor?" She wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her robe. "You are who I have, and as you've already pointed out, you're unavailable."

He sighed. "Surely, there must be someone, a coworker, or an old school friend."

She glared at him through more tears. "Please. Unspeakables aren't exactly the chummy sort, and I think you know who my school friends were."

"Perhaps Harry—"

She let out an agonized laugh. "Really? Because I spend so much time with him?"

"Surely, he would not turn you away in a time of need."

She closed her eyes and pressed a hand over her mouth for a long moment. Finally, she said, "And how am I to explain my need Viktor?"

"You could try the truth," he said. "It is not as though Harry is unaware of the trial."

"Of course, he's aware of the trial," she said hotly. "How do you imagine he's spending his nights?"

He frowned at her. "I would rather have you drinking among friends than drinking alone."

"Really, even if one of those friends is Ron?"

His frown deepened. "I was not suggesting you reach out to him."

"They're not separate. I guarantee you Ron is staying with Harry and Ginny right now. Draco almost killed him. I'm guessing Harry and Ginny are trying to hold him together before the trial. You want me to invite myself into that? Is Ginny meant to throw out her brother, so she can watch over me, or are we all to be one big happy family again?" She was crying in earnest now. "How is that supposed to work?"

Viktor sighed and knelt in front of her. "It is not. I am sorry. Forget I said anything." She couldn't stop crying. At a loss for what to do, he picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom. He put her in bed and curled up behind her and held her while she sobbed.

When Hermione had eventually cried herself to sleep, Viktor slipped out of bed and went into the parlor to write a letter to Pietra.

xXx

Two days later, as Viktor was preparing to leave for another set of away games, there was a knock on the door. Hermione answered it to find Pietra standing in the hallway. "Hullo," she said. The two women hugged. "What are you doing here?" Hermione asked.

"Todor is painting a mural in Pleven. I just finished doing a portrait in Ruse, so I thought I would see what you two were up to."

"All right then," Hermione said, smiling. "Come in." She gave Viktor a knowing look as Pietra made her way into the flat.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I must go if I am to make my Portkey in time. I trust you two can manage."

"I think so," Pietra said. "I'll just put my things in the guest room." She headed down the hall.

Hermione turned to Viktor and arched an eyebrow. "Seriously? You got me a childminder?"

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "She is your friend too. I will return as soon as I can. I will be there for the trial if I can make it." He held up crossed fingers. "We will hope for an early Snitch." He drew his wand and Disapparated.

Pietra came back into the parlor. "So, what would you like to do today?"

"Seeing as how it's Thursday, I should probably go to work."

Pietra raised her eyebrows. "Really? Viktor said you hadn't been going in much."

Hermione sighed and sat down in one of the armchairs. "What did he tell you?"

"Only that you were having a hard time before the trial, and he was worried about you."

"So, he asked you to come look after me while he's away."

"I offered. I can't imagine what it must be like to face your parents' murderer in court."

"I don't know for certain that Draco was the one who murdered them, but he let a werewolf into Hogwarts, almost killed Katie Bell with a cursed object, and almost killed Ron with poisoned mead. Not to mention he cast Imperious on a local publican to force her to help him, so even if he wasn't the one who murdered my parents, I still want him in Azkaban."

"Naturally," Pietra said.

Hermione realized she was twisting the sash of her dressing gown into a tight spiral. She stood. "I should get dressed. I'll be out in a minute."

xXx

Pietra turned out to be just what Hermione needed. She didn't know any of the players in the trial, so she didn't have strong feelings about it. She was happy to listen if Hermione wanted to talk about it, but she never initiated a conversation regarding the trial. Instead, she suggested activities. They spent much of the week in various art galleries and museums, both Muggle and magical. They also spent a lot of time walking along the shore. Pietra hadn't seen much of the English coast so Hermione took her to her favorite spots and they walked, sometimes for hours, despite cold and windy weather. Pietra cast warming charms, while Hermione told her stories of family trips to those same cliffs and beaches and even some stories about camping with Ron and Harry during the war. Pietra listened quietly, only asking the occasional clarifying question.

Late at night, or in the wee hours of the morning, when Pietra was asleep, Hermione would go out on the balcony to smoke and have a drink to calm her nerves. Being outside was a tonic despite the weather. A warming charm always made it bearable.

xXx

The day of the trial Viktor was playing a match in Germany against the Heidelberg Harriers that had started the previous night. His presence at the trial seemed increasingly unlikely.

"Good morning," Pietra said as she came out onto the balcony in her dressing gown. She took in Hermione's appearance. "You didn't go to bed."

"No," Hermione said. "Couldn't sleep."

"You've been out here all night?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Okay. I'll make coffee. What would you like for breakfast?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think I can eat."

Pietra looked at the bottle of whiskey on the table next to her. "You should put something on your stomach."

"I might be able to manage a bite or two of toast. Just dry though."

Pietra nodded.

Hermione stood. "I'm going to take a shower." She thought once she was under the spray that she might cry, but she didn't. She didn't feel sad or angry. Mostly she felt nothing and was resigned to that, appreciated it even, but she didn't know how long that would last, especially once she was in the gallery with Harry and Ron and his family and their friends. The couldn't imagine the numbness would hold in all that emotion. She desperately hoped it would. She turned off the shower and got ready. When she stepped out of her bedroom in traditional robes, Pietra cocked her head.

Hermione looked down at her outfit. "What?" 

"I don't think I've ever seen you dressed like that."

Hermione shrugged. "I dress like this most days. My office is very traditional."

"Of course." Pietra handed her a cup of coffee. "Your toast is ready. I'm going to go get dressed."

"Thank you. For everything." Hermione took a bite of the toast.

"You're welcome." Pietra smiled and squeezed her arm before going back to the guest room.

The toast might as well have been cardboard in Hermione's mouth. She managed to choke down a bite and then abandoned it as a bad job. She finished her coffee and went back out on the balcony for a cigarette. She'd been smoking a lot lately and reminded herself to cut back once the trial was over. It was a nasty habit, and she knew she should stop. Even though witches and wizards weren't susceptible to the diseases associated with smoking, she knew Viktor didn't like it. She didn't like it either. She didn't like the way it made her clothes or breath smell. She was very self-conscious about the need to brush her teeth more, which made her think of her parents and how disappointed they would be to know she was smoking. Even though her father had smoked, he'd always regretted it. She sighed as she finished her cigarette and cast the spell to make the butt disappear.

"Are you ready?" Pietra asked from the door of the balcony.

"As I'll ever be."

xXx

One of the things the Ministry of Magic did when Shacklebolt took over was to reopen trials to the public in the interest of transparency. As a result, the great hall at the Ministry was crowded when Hermione and Pietra arrived. Hermione had a ticket to the trial, because she was an interested party, but Pietra didn't, so she had to apply for a lottery number for one of the limited seats.

"I'm so sorry," she said to Hermione. "I may not be able to get in with you."

"That's okay. I'll be fine." Hermione didn't exactly feel fine. She felt wooden. She looked around. She could see Ron's red hair above the crowd on the other side of the room. She assumed he was with Harry, but Harry was considerably shorter, so she couldn't see him. She knew they would both get in. Ron, like her, was considered an interested party. And Harry was Harry. She took a deep breath as the tones sounded. Percy Weasley announced that interested parties should take their places in the courtroom. Pietra hugged her. "I'll see you when I can. I'll wait out here if I don't get a seat."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you." She made her way to the door that was glowing with a green light. Ron and Harry were closer to the door than she was, so they were ahead of her. Ron took the first seat on the end of the balcony overlooking the courtroom. Ginny sat next to him and then Harry. When Harry saw Hermione, he spoke to Katie Bell who was sitting next to him and she slid over so Hermione could sit next to Harry.

"Thanks," Hermione said quietly to Katie and sat down, leaving Katie in the other end seat.

"Are you okay?" Harry whispered.

She nodded, afraid that if she spoke, it would be obvious that she wasn't. Ginny leaned over Harry and squeezed Hermione's hand. "Come to the Burrow after."

Hermione squeezed back but didn't answer the invitation. She closed her eyes and blew out a slow breath. Ginny sat back and another door opened on the other side of the room to let in the people who'd drawn lottery numbers. Unfortunately, Pietra was not among them. Hermione tried to blank her mind and not think about what might happen, but it was difficult. She could feel someone's eyes on her. She glanced over to see Ron watching her. He looked grim faced, but when she glanced at him, he lifted one corner of his mouth and nodded slightly. She nodded back but then faced front again. The room was called to order and the lights dimmed, leaving only a dais in the center of the room lit. The quiet murmuring of the crowd stopped and a hushed silence descended as members of the Wizengamot filed in and took their seats. The witch they'd voted to make Inquisitor for the trial, took her seat across from the dais. Draco was brought in. He was wearing black formal robes and his hair was cut nicely. He would have looked good if he'd hadn't been so pale and drawn. His right ear was missing its lobe. He sat with his damaged ear toward them. A shiver ran through Hermione as she recalled the bit of flesh in her mouth. She fought back a gag. Harry leaned over and whispered. "Steady."

She nodded but didn't look at him. If she looked at him, the sympathy in his eyes would be her undoing. Percy Weasley stood next to the Inquisitor. He read aloud the crimes Draco was accused of committing. When he got to his actions against Katie, Hermione took her hand and Katie looked at her gratefully. Behind them, Madam Rosmerta let out a brief cry when the Imperious was listed. When Percy read out the bit about poisoning Ron his voice cracked a bit and Harry took Hermione's other hand. She glanced down and realized everyone in the row was holding hands. When Percy read the accusation of the murder of her parents, Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry and gripped Harry's hand tighter. She felt light-headed and regretted not trying to get down more of the toast. Harry leaned over and whispered. "Not much longer now."

The Inquisitor called for Veritaserum, which was the old way that trials used to be conducted. There was no ridiculous lying and cajoling. The potion was administered, the questions asked, the truth given, and then the sentence was set. Draco didn't even bother with excuses and didn't try to explain his actions. He just mechanically answered yes. When he admitted to killing her parents, a brief cry escaped her lips. Draco looked up at the sound and sneered at her. Hermione quickly pulled her hand from Katie's and put it over her mouth. She dropped Harry's hand and didn't stay for sentencing. She couldn't. She had to get out of that room. Katie seemed to understand and pulled her legs aside to let Hermione out. There was a commotion behind her, but she fled the room as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, when she opened the door to the hallway, a huge crowd of people, many of whom were press, had gathered. Flash bulbs went off. She slid her hand into her wand pocket and touched the warm wood. "Part," she whispered under her breath and people slid to either side in front of her creating a narrow path to the elevators. She hurried through, ignoring the indignant shouts and the continuously flashing bulbs. She didn't see Pietra, but she couldn't wait. She had to get out of the building. The elevator opened in front of her and there was Viktor, still in his Quidditch gear, sweaty and dirty from the game. She ran to him. He held the elevator for her. When she reached him, he cast a wandless spell to make the doors close. She fell against him and he hugged her to him. "Please get me out of here," she sobbed.

"We are going," he said and held her tighter. The elevator dropped them in the main hall. They stepped into the first fireplace they reached to take the Floo to his flat.

The moment they were inside, Hermione hurried out on to the balcony and clung to the rail taking deep calming breaths. Viktor gave her a moment to herself and went to make her a cup of tea. A couple of minutes later, he stepped out on to the balcony and handed her the cup. "Drink this."

Hermione took a sip of the hot, sweet tea. He'd remembered she liked honey and lemon rather than milk and sugar. She smiled at him gratefully. He really was kind.

"What happened?"

She shook her head. "They got to the charge of murdering my parents and he said yes and then sneered at me in that same awful petty way he used to look at me in school, as if killing my parents was just another schoolyard dispute." She shook her head again. "I had to get out of there."

There was a knock on the door.

"If it's some vulture from the press, I have nothing to say," Hermione said.

"Of course." He answered the door to Pietra. 

She followed him out onto the balcony. "I saw you come out of the courtroom but I couldn't get to you. Then when you left with Viktor, I stayed to hear the verdict."

"And?" Hermione asked.

"Life in Azkaban. Wand destroyed."

Hermione felt her knees go week and the teacup slipped from her hand. Ever the seeker, Viktor caught it before it hit the ground. With his other hand he caught Hermione under the arm. "Come sit down."

xXx

Ron heard Hermione's anguished cry in the courtroom and saw her hurry out. He went after her, but when she parted the crowd, the path closed behind her, and he had to struggle through them to get to her. He wondered what spell she'd used. He needed to learn that one. He could see the woman he'd met at the Magenta Comstock event last year struggling to get to Hermione as well. She must not have been able to get a ticket inside. Just as Ron was about to break out of the crowd, he heard the elevator doors open and there stood Viktor.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "That fucking guy."

Hermione's friend who'd been struggling against the crowd had made her way next to him. She gave him an odd look. He ignored her and turned around to go back into the courtroom, but when he reached the door, he didn't go in. What was the point? Draco was guilty. They were going to send him to Azkaban, if not for life, for a long time. He'd hoped to offer some comfort to Hermione. Maybe even hug her, but that was probably a long shot. As soon as he saw all the reporters standing around with cameras, he knew she'd never hug him. Still, he wanted to speak to her. He remembered her sitting next to his bed when he awoke from being poisoned. Prior to that he'd been such a prat to her, and she'd been, at first, hurt and then pretty nasty back, but when he'd opened his eyes, the look of utter relief on her face had told him all had been forgiven. He'd wanted her to be his girl right then, but of course, there was Lavender to be dealt with, and that took him way longer than it should have. Finally, that summer, they'd gotten on the same page, and Hermione was his, well and truly his. That had been the only good thing about the war and being on the run: Hermione warm in his bed at night. But now she kept Viktor's bed warm. The number of women sharing Ron's bed didn't matter. They weren't the right woman, which wasn't to say some of them weren't great. Some of them were lovely and kind and smart and funny. Maybe he could have even loved some of them, but he didn't let them stay long enough for that. He didn't want someone new. He wanted to fix what he'd broken. He wanted the life he was meant to have, not some cobbled together life that he'd stuck together with broken pieces and alternate parts. He and Hermione belonged together. He knew that, felt it deep in his bones. He just didn't understand why she persisted in staying with Viktor. He couldn't fathom what sort of hold Viktor had on her that would make her stay. It didn't make sense. She belonged with Ron. They were fated to be together, so he couldn't understand her stubborn resistance to working things out. 

The courtroom doors opened, and people began pouring into the hall. Harry and Ginny found him, and then the rest of the family began gathering around them. "Let's go home," his mother announced. "This is a cause worth celebrating." Ron dutifully followed everyone to the main hall to take the Floo back to the Burrow even though he didn't feel much like a party. He'd heard Ginny ask Hermione to come back to the Burrow too, but since Viktor had shown up, he doubted she would bother. He wondered how she would spend her evening and whether she felt like celebrating. He doubted she would. After all, Draco going to Azkaban wasn't going to bring her parents back. He thought about the night they'd found them, how the parlor had been awash in blood. She'd called the police on the telething, and Harry had stayed to help her deal with them, because Ron and Ginny didn't exist in the Muggle world, and their presence would have raised too many questions. He remembered her thundering silence upon their return to the Burrow. The following week he still hadn't recovered enough to do magic, but he'd gone to help clean her parents' house anyway. He'd felt useless. The others made quick work of it with their wands, while he took the rubbish bins to the curb.

She'd moved through life like a zombie after that. Prior to their deaths, she'd been getting better, healing from her wounds, and making plans for the future. She'd tried to keep his spirits up about his condition. She'd been playful and sexy and had kept him from slipping completely into the abyss from his lack of recovery. After her parents were killed, she fell headlong into that abyss, bypassing him on her way down. He couldn't catch her, couldn't even slow her descent. All he could do was watch her fall. Then they were both in the hole, and he'd resented that she couldn't help him anymore, so he'd made it worse. He'd made everything so much worse, because he was shit. No wonder she stayed with Viktor. Viktor wasn't shit. Viktor was the kind of man who showed up still dirty from a match to be there for his woman. Ron knew then that his willingness to show up was the hold Viktor had over Hermione. He wanted to go to her and tell her that he would show up. That he was better now. He wasn't sick or weak. He was strong. He was the man he used to be before he got hurt. He was better even than that man. Better than the man she fell in love with. He was a strong wizard, a smart business man, and he had money. He could take care of her. He could be there. If only she would let him.

xXx

Hermione changed into jeans and a heavy jumper and went back outside. Since the war, she liked to be outside as much as possible. The balcony was the best thing about Viktor's flat. He was starving and exhausted from the long match in Germany. Pietra made cheese sandwiches and a salad for dinner. Viktor ate four sandwiches and a big bowl of salad before going to take a shower. Hermione came in to eat but only took a couple of bites of her salad before getting a glass of wine and going back out on the balcony. She sat staring at the hustle and bustle in the alley. She could hear Pietra cleaning the kitchen and then talking to Viktor when he got out of the shower. They spoke in low tones that she couldn't make out. She finished her wine and continued watching people move about below her on the street. No one else seemed effected by the day's events, but then that had always been her experience. No matter what personal nightmare she might be going through, life went on around her unabated. _Life goes on_ , she thought. _How grim_. She thought about sitting next to Ron's bed when he'd been poisoned. She'd been so hurt when he took up with Lavender, and the bulk of that year had been so awful, that she couldn't imagine that things could possibly get worse between them, but there she sat. They had never been further apart. It seemed impossible that this was how things had turned out. Viktor stepped out on to the balcony.

"Hermione, come to bed, it is getting late," he said.

She looked up and realized it had gotten dark. She stood and picked up her empty wine glass. "I'm not sleepy, but you look knackered. Go to bed. I'll come in later."

He put his hands around her waist and drew her to him. "Are you sure? You have been out here all day. I could help you sleep."

She smiled and kissed him softly on the lips. "I appreciate the offer, but I need some time to process everything. I promise I won't smoke in the house. I'm going to have another glass of wine, but that'll be it for tonight. Okay?"

"I'm not trying to nag you. I worry."

"I know." She ran her fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry I've worried you. I'll pull it together. I promise."

"I have ten days off," he said. "Let's go somewhere warmer."

She kissed him again. "Sure. We'll talk about it in the morning."

"All right. Do not be up too late."

"Is Pietra still awake?" Hermione asked.

"No, she already went to bed. She has to leave early in the morning."

"I'll just sit out here for a little longer."

He kissed her forehead and went inside. She followed him, got another glass of wine and returned to the balcony. She thought about Ginny's invitation to come to the Burrow after the trial. It wasn't that late. Everyone was probably still up. It would be nice to see the family, to be with people who really understood the depths of what Draco had done. She could go for a little while. If it was awkward, she could just come back.

xXx

Hermione Apparated to the orchard on a rise behind the house. The family were all in the back garden. A big fire was going and they were all sitting around drinking and talking. Her feet were cold and wet, and she realized she'd Apparated without shoes again. She looked down and sighed and cast a wandless non-verbal warming charm. The sound of laughter floated up to her. She felt good just seeing the Weasley's happy and healthy even if she couldn't quite make herself join them. She lit a cigarette and leaned against an apple tree.

She was startled a few minutes later when Harry appeared next to her.

"If you don't want to be noticed, you might want to put out the cigarette." He winked at her.

Hermione felt her face go hot as she stubbed out the cigarette against the trunk of the tree she'd been leaning against. "Good tip," she said with false levity.

"Are you going to join us?"

"Were you sent up here to fetch me?"

"No," he answered honestly. "I saw you and said I was going to the toilet. I Apparated from there."

"Ah," Hermione said.

"Why are you up here instead of down there? You were invited," Harry said.

"I know. I just…it looks like everyone is drinking."

"Draco just got sent to Azkaban. Of course, everyone is drinking," Harry said.

"Right…well…I don't…"

"He's not drunk if that's what you're getting at," Harry said. "He's a had a couple of glasses of ale. That's it."

She shook her head. "I'd rather not deal with him when he's been drinking."

Harry looked exasperated. "But you've been drinking. I can smell it on your breath."

She felt herself blush again and was grateful they were standing in the dark. "Yes, but I don't…"

"Don't what?" Harry asked.

"Nothing. Thanks for coming to check on me. I just needed to…" She shook her head. "I should go." She drew her wand.

"Don't," Harry said but she was gone.

xXx

Hermione went back to Viktor's flat. Apparating on to the balcony, she let herself in quietly, but Pietra was standing in the kitchen drinking a glass of water.

"Where did you go?" Pietra asked.

Hermione opened her mouth to lie, but then answered honestly. "To the Burrow."

"Where?"

"Ron's family's home. Harry and Ginny were there."

"Oh," Pietra said, clearly unsure of how to respond.

"I didn't go in. I just…" She shook her head. "It was a stupid thing to do."

"It's not stupid to want to be with people who've been through what you've been through. I think that's natural. I'm sure there are things they understand, because they experienced them with you, that Viktor or I couldn't comprehend."

Hermione sighed and sat down on one of the barstools facing Pietra. "Maybe, but Ron was there, so I didn't—I talked to Harry briefly. That's all."

Pietra glanced at the bedroom where Viktor was sleeping. "Your ex seems…"

"What?"

"He seemed to want to talk to you today. Like me, he couldn't get to you before you left."

"Ah," Hermione said. "He probably just wanted to see if I was okay, not off the deep end or anything. He was there when I found my parents. It's fair to say I didn't take it well.

"Who could?"

"Right, well, as you can imagine, I wasn't okay for a long time after that. I'm sure he just wanted to make sure I wasn't alone."

Pietra nodded. "I'm so sorry you've been through all this."

"You lost your parents too. A lot of people lost loved ones. I'm not unique in that."

"No, but my parents died fighting for a cause we all believed in. Your parents were Muggles, innocent bystanders to a war they had nothing to do with."

"Yes, except they produced me, and I had rather a lot to do with the war, so I'm sure the Death Eaters saw them as anything but innocent."

"To be sure," Pietra said.

"I was foolish. I should have moved them to safety, but when I suggested it, they wouldn't hear it. I think they just couldn't wrap their minds around the danger. You know?"

"It must have seemed improbable to a couple of Muggles," Pietra said.

"Yes. I think that's it exactly. But I still let them decide, which was stupid. They were my parents, and I was used to them making decisions, but in that case, I should have forced the issue. Obliviated them if necessary, but I didn't, and it got them killed. Draco may have murdered them, but I made it easy for him by letting them continue as though the war didn't happen. It took me a long time to learn to live with that decision."

"I'm sure," Pietra said sympathetically. "But you got through it."

Hermione smiled at her. "Yes. I got through it. And here I am."

Pietra reached across the bar and squeezed her hand. "And I, for one, am very happy about that."

"Thanks," Hermione smiled at her. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to go to bed."

"Good," Pietra said. "Me too."

"Goodnight then." Hermione went back to the bedroom she shared with Viktor. She felt hyper aware of all the little things that had changed in her life. As she slipped naked into bed, she considered that she never used to sleep naked. In school, she shared a dorm with other girls, so she slept in a gown or pajamas. On the run with Harry and Ron, she slept in a T-shirt and underwear with her jeans and boots next to the bed in case something happened during the night. It was so cold in the tent sometimes, even with Ron in bed with her, that she would sleep in long underwear and a jumper. It was difficult conducting any kind of sexual relationship in a tent with Harry so close. They didn't want to be rude, so they were virtually silent, and often mostly dressed, when making love. A silencing charm wasn't terribly effective in a tent, so they were quiet out of respect for Harry's feelings, since he was stuck out on his own without Ginny. She remembered the first time Viktor had made her cry out during sex, how decadent and wrong it had felt to vocalize those sensations. Years of being quiet in bed to avoid detection had created a kind of kink in her sexuality that Viktor had worked hard to unravel. "If I can't hear you," he had said, "how do I know if you are enjoying yourself. Do not hold back. Let go."

So, she'd let go. She'd let go of so many things in recent years that she barely recognized herself sometimes, but she didn't regret letting go of the silence. Sex was better out loud. She rolled over and looked at Viktor sleeping next to her. He was a good lover, better than Ron in many ways, but perhaps that wasn't fair. When she was sleeping with Ron, neither of them had much in the way of sexual experience, so they'd fumbled around together to figure out what worked for them, and the circumstances had been less than ideal. Viktor had had plenty of other lovers before she came along and he was clearly a man who took pride in all of his physical prowess, not just his Quidditch skills. Given the number of women who regularly appeared by Ron's side in the gossip column, Hermione assumed he'd expanded his sexual horizons significantly during the past year, but then, she supposed she had too. She had more sexual experience at this point than she had ever intended, but there was nothing to be done about that, and it was best not to dwell. She rolled onto her back again and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't help but wonder if Viktor was her last lover. At one time, she'd thought Ron was the only man she'd ever be with. Ron was meant to be her first and her last, but now she lay next to Viktor, and she couldn't help wondering whether he was her future as well as her present. If Viktor suddenly professed his undying love, she wasn't sure how she'd respond. She'd never had to think about that when she was with Ron. She grew to love him over time until he filled all the empty places inside her, and there was no question, no doubt. Maybe that was all she needed with Viktor, more time, only there was a problem. When she was honest with herself, which she avoided most of the time, she knew Ron still filled all those places. Despite her best efforts to avoid him, despite never letting him touch her, never talking to him alone, he was there, inside her, always.

She pushed the back of her head into the pillow and berated herself for her stupidity. Ron certainly seemed to have moved on. He was so casual any time they saw each other that she could only assume that her presence wasn't a big deal to him. Sure, he didn't seem to ever want Viktor around, but that was an old jealousy, not a new one. Besides, some men were territorial that way, or so she'd heard. She sighed again and stared at the ceiling. She wished she could be as blasé about seeing him as he was about seeing her, but instead, confronted with the possibility, her stomach twisted in knots and her heart ached while her brain insisted on replaying every aspect of their relationship in which she could have made different choices and had a better outcome. If only she hadn't been so depressed. If only he hadn't been so sick. If only, if only, if only…

She looked at Viktor again. She liked him. She really liked him and respected him. Viktor was a very good man, but somewhere in the depths of her soul, she knew he wasn't her man. She wasn't sure why he stayed. She was certain he wasn't in love with her and never had been. At best, she thought he found her intriguing, difficult, a challenge that he could rise to, but that wasn't love. She knew enough about the world to know that love was not enough, that there had to be more to make a relationship work, but love was important, and she and Viktor didn't have it. Still, the thought of leaving him left her cold. The idea of going back to that big old house in London was too much to contemplate. She wasn't strong enough for that and might never be. Instead, she was resigned to the fact that one day Viktor would leave her, or as he did at the end of last year, simply put her out of the house for some unbearable blunder on her part. She wasn't sure when it was, but their relationship had an expiration date, then again, maybe they all did.


	6. Somewhere Warmer

Hermione stayed in bed until late the next morning, so she wasn't surprised that Viktor was up and dressed when she finally emerged from the bedroom.

"Coffee is ready," he told her. She went into the kitchen and poured a cup. He leaned on the bar that separated the kitchen and the parlor. "I was talking to one of my teammates this morning. His mother is Spanish, and he said it is Las Fallas in Valencia now."

"Never heard of it," Hermione said, bleary-eyed as she sipped her coffee.

"It is a Muggle festival, so most witches and wizards leave for the week. His mother's family has a flat off the Plaça Redona near the magical quarter that he says we can stay in."

"I thought you wanted to go somewhere warm," Hermione said and sipped her coffee.

"It is warmer there than here, and I think a busy festival will be good to take your mind off recent events. The Muggles will not recognize us which is like a vacation too."

"That's certainly true. I guess I could make us a Portkey. I'm supposed to meet with Krastevich this morning, but I can push that off."

"Absolutely not," Viktor said firmly. "You have put it off twice already. That is more important. See her. We will go after."

She frowned but nodded. The idea of letting someone manipulate the scar on her side made her very nervous, even if the end result was to make it less painful. "Fine but I need to drop into work for a few minutes after that, and then I'll come back and we'll go."

"Good. I will pack for us."

Hermione nodded.

xXx

The training facilities for Puddlemere United were in a sprawling, but Muggle-shielded, structure near the River Piddle. Hermione had only ever been there once, for family day, when Viktor was first hired by the team. As she stood looking at the building, she realized she hadn't done much in the way of supporting Viktor's career lately. When they were first dating she went to as many matches as she could, but these days she rarely made an appearance. She chided herself to do better in that regard. He'd been so supportive of her lately. The least she could do was return the favor. She looked the enormous building and shook her head. She knew she was stalling. Blowing out a nervous breath, she marched forward. A witch greeted her at the door with a list. Hermione touched her wand to her name to prove she was who she said she was, but based on the woman's reaction to meeting her, that was just a formality.

"It's such an honor," the woman said. Hermione smiled at her. Even though she was probably only a few years younger than Hermione, she seemed decades younger. Hermione sighed and wished she felt her actual age more often.

"I read in the paper about you getting that Death Eater and about the trial. You're amazing."

"Uh, thanks," Hermione said. She never knew how to respond to those kinds of gushing encounters. She stood their awkwardly.

"Oh," the woman said. "Right. I'll take you back then."

Hermione followed her to the healing facility.

"Here you go," the young woman said. She thrust out her hand, and Hermione shook it. "Wonderful to meet you."

Hermione smiled tightly. "You too." She sighed with relief when the witch went back to her post. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Krastevich was drinking a cup of coffee and looking much more professional than when she'd shown up with her healers' robes over pajamas in Venice. "Good morning," she said smiling. "I was wondering if you'd show."

"I know, I've put this off a couple of times. It's just…I…"

Krastevich smiled. "You're nervous about letting me work on the scar. Understandable. It will be uncomfortable, even painful at times, but in the end, it will be a lot better."

"How long?" Hermione asked.

"How long what?" Krastevich asked.

"How long until it feels better? How many sessions?"

"Oh, it will feel better after today. How long it takes to make it permanently better will depend on how it responds to treatment. I haven't worked on a scar as significant as yours in a long time, but most magical scars respond within five sessions. I'm guessing yours might take twice that, maybe more."

"Okay," Hermione said nervously. "And how long will the sessions be?"

"Ten minutes. Less to begin with if it's too painful."

"Okay." She bit her lip.

"Then let's get started. Do you have something to change into? I need full access to the scar."

Hermione nodded. "Viktor told me to bring running shorts and a T-shirt."

"Perfect. No bra. I need the scar completely exposed."

Hermione nodded and went to change. When she returned, Krastevich directed her to a private room and had her lay on her good side on a padded table and lift her shirt to expose the scar. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing as Krastevich pulled her wand.

"Hermione?"

She opened her eyes and looked at the healer. "Yes?"

"You have to drop the shield for me to work."

Hermione glanced down and realized she'd subconsciously cast Protego. "Sorry." Blushing, she dropped the spell.

"It's okay," Krastevich said. "Impressive that you can cast a wandless, nonverbal shield though." She cast a numbing charm and then reached for a tube of something and put it on her hands.

"Um, thanks," Hermione said. "Wandless, nonverbal shields are kind of my thing. That and Apparition are my most persistently powerful magic."

Krastevich smiled. "You must have been quite an asset in the war."

"That's what they tell me," Hermione said lightly, and then bit back a cry as Krastevich pressed her thumbs along either side of the scar.

"You don't have to hold back," Krastevich said. "I know it hurts. The medical facility has a permanent muffling charm on it, and you're the only one here this morning."

"Can you maybe lighten up a bit."

Krastevich smiled sadly. "I'm barely touching you."

"Seriously? It feels like you're digging under my ribs."

"I'm not. Can you go another minute?"

Hermione gritted her teeth and nodded. What felt like an eternity later, Krastevich stopped and drew her wand again. She cast another spell that Hermione had never heard and began working on the scar again. This time Hermione did cry out.

After a couple more minutes, Krastevich drew her wand for a third time and cast yet another spell. "All right. That's us done for today then."

Hermione let out a relieved sigh and sat up, pulling her shirt back down.

"Just sit for a minute." Krastevich put away the various tubes of goo she'd used on her hands. "Don't get up too quickly."

Hermione nodded and tried to get her breathing under control.

"Viktor tells me you put your scars under glamour charms every morning. Odd, since they're under your clothes."

"I don't like to see them. I don't like for him to see them either."

Krastevich nodded. "Understood, but for the duration of this treatment, I'm going to ask that you not glamour them, and if you can manage to get them in the sunlight, all the better."

"It's March," Hermione said.

"So, cast a warming charm somewhere private. I'm sure you know how to do that." Hermione frowned at her, but Krastevich just smiled at her. "Next week then?"

Hermione got off the table and stood straight, surprised that the scar did, in fact, feel better. "Yes."

"Same time then." Krastevich left her to change.

Hermione put her bra back on, but decided not to change since she wanted to go home and shower before going into work. When she left the treatment room she was surprised to see Viktor waiting for her.

"How did it go?" Viktor asked.

"Good." She was embarrassed to find herself tearing up. "It hurt, really hurt, but now it feels better than it's ever felt." She brushed away a tear that managed to slip past her rapid blinking.

He hugged her and kissed her forehead. "I told you she was good."

"And you were right," Hermione said, pressing her face against his shoulder as she pulled herself together. "I'm going to go home and shower, then pop into work for a bit."

"Okay. I will see you back at the flat."

"Yes," Hermione started for the door but turned back. "And Viktor…" He looked at her. "Thank you, for insisting I do this. Based on today's results I think this will be good."

"I am glad," he said, stroking her cheek with his fingers. "Now go get your work done so we can get out of here."

She smiled and pushed through the door.

xXx

Thomas was working at his desk when Hermione lightly tapped on the door frame.

"Hey stranger," he said. "Come in."

"Hi. I thought I'd drop in before I left. I just told Stanhope that I'll be out for the next ten days."

"I can't imagine he cared," Thomas said.

"He didn't. I'm still waiting to hear about the next phase of my Apparition project, so I'd just be milling around down here anyway."

"Before you leave," Thomas said. "I wanted to pick your brain a bit. Have a seat."

"About what?" Hermione sat in one of the wooden chairs in front of his desk.

"Time-turners. I understand you had access to one in school, which I have to say sounds extremely dodgy to me."

Hermione felt a chill run up her spine. "What makes you think I had access to a Time-Turner?"

He smiled. "They're restricted items, the records of their use are quite complete. Serious stuff time travel. How Albus Dumbledore managed to procure one for a student, no matter how precocious, is beyond me. And then, they were all destroyed in a battle, which I believe you took part in."

Hermione cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. "Um…"

Thomas cocked his head at her. "You're not in trouble. Nothing of the sort. You just have a unique experience of time that few other people have had. I'd like to interview you about it."

"But I'm on my way to Spain," Hermione said.

"Not a problem. I've studied time for my entire adult life. It's made me surprisingly patient. We can talk when you return."

"Um, all right then," Hermione stood. "Viktor's waiting for me."

"Off you pop then," Thomas said. "Cheerio."

Hermione hurried from the room. She would have to talk to Harry before she talked to Thomas. Although, given the results she'd had with the scar, she felt like she should mention the treatment to Harry anyway, then he could tell Ron about it. She was greatly relieved to return to Viktor's flat and then take the Portkey to Valencia. Getting out of England and somewhere among Muggles, where she wouldn't be recognized, seemed like the best idea ever.

xXx

The flat in Valencia was a small two-bedroom, two-bath on the fourth floor of a lovely old building in the El Mercat section of the city, just a quick walk from Plaça Redona, the beautiful circular shaped city 'square' that was also the entrance to magical Valencia. Hermione stepped out onto the balcony and breathed in the warm air. The temperature was in the upper sixties and sunny which felt balmy compared to London's overcast low fifties. Viktor joined her on the balcony. "This is perfect," she told him.

"I am glad you approve. It was kind of López to offer."

"Yes. This is his parent's place?"

"They own it, but they do not live here all the time. They have another home in Alicante by the sea, where they live most of the time. López uses this apartment when he is home. He grew up in Valencia. I guess his parents moved after he finished school."

"Are they Muggles?"

"His mother is. I think they mostly lived among Muggles when he was young, but then he went to Beauxbatons."

"Did he know Fleur?"

"Actually, yes, quite well. They dated for a while in school. He holds her in quite high regard, as do I."

Hermione nodded. "I rather like her as well. She was very kind to us after the war."

Viktor yawned and stretched. "I think I will go for a run and see what is happening around us. Care to join me?"

She smiled at him. "I don't think so." He was only asking to be polite. She wasn't much of a runner and would only slow him down. She much preferred a long walk to a run. "Go ahead. I want to write a letter to Harry anyway."

"Already? We just got here. What is there to say?"

"It's not that sort of letter. I wanted to tell him about the treatment I had this morning. He has a rather significant scar on his chest that might benefit from the same thing."

"Ah," Viktor said. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. "I will leave you to it then."

"Have a good run," she said as she dug around in her bag for a quill.

xXx

Ron didn't generally make a practice of trading on his notoriety for favors, but he made an exception when it came to Portkeys. He'd asked for an open Portkey, so he could set the destination and departure time and then went back to his flat. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about the conversation he'd had with Harry after he returned from Kenya. He knew Hermione wouldn't stay in England after the trial. He'd watched her life closely via the tabloids, and any time something stressful happened, she went away. He blew out a slow breath and reached under his bed for the wooden box he kept the mementos of their relationship in. It included all her letters to him, photographs, and most importantly, a lock of her hair. There were multiple ways to do a location spell, but the easiest was with some piece of the person you were looking for. Hermione biting off a bit of Draco's ear had made finding him simple. The lock of her hair would make finding Hermione simple and that was one reason he'd always kept it. Hermione had had Ginny cut her hair after the war when she'd been so wounded that even simple grooming spells were taxing. Ron still remembered picking up one of the long ringlets from the floor and surreptitiously slipping it into his pocket. That night he'd carefully tied a string around it and laid it in the box along with her letters. He picked it up and looked at the long curl. How he missed that hair. It made her crazy, but he loved it. Her hair was wild and unruly and felt so good in his hands. She could tame it but only for so long, and then it would be just as it had always been, free and tumbling over her shoulders and down her back.

Harry had been right. If he wanted to talk to Hermione, there was nothing stopping him. Viktor was an extra in this drama. Ron and Hermione were the only players that mattered. He stood by the large globe in his drawing room and drew his wand to cast the charm to locate her. He let go of his wand and it floated over Spain and more specifically over Valencia. He smiled. He would talk to her. They would work this out. They had to. He pulled his wand down and activated the Portkey and stepped out onto the Balcony. A few minutes later, he landed in the oldest part of the city. He magically nicked a map from a street vendor and slipped down an alley to cast a more specific spell, before magically returning the map. She was close. They'd get this sorted in no time at all.

xXx

Viktor returned from his run just as Hermione was returning from the owlry. He smiled at her.

"What?" she said, amused at how pleased he seemed.

"Remember when you said you would like to learn more about tango."

"Yes, I had an introduction to it in dance class when I was younger, but I'd like to know it better."

"There is a dance hall around the corner, and they are doing a seminar and dance tonight."

"Can we get in this late?"

"I am a very talented wizard," Viktor said.

Hermione chuckled. "That's a yes then?"

He winked at her. "I will shower and we will go. It starts in an hour."

"Great," Hermione said. "I'll get dressed."

xXx

Ron was less sure of his plan when the location spell took him to a dance hall. Hermione loved to dance, and apparently, so did Viktor. He'd seen them dance before on several occasions, and it wasn't his favorite thing to witness. They moved so easily together, it was hard not to translate that into how they might move together in other circumstances, which made him sick and angry. He sighed and decided to take a walk around the building and think about how he wanted to approach her or if he still wanted to. What had seemed like a great plan in his flat, seemed ill-advised as he stood in Valencia looking at the dance hall, the name of which he couldn't begin to pronounce. He sighed and started walking.

As he walked down a blind alley next to the building, he realized a side door to the dance hall was propped open. He cast an obfuscation spell and slipped inside, staying to the shadows. Maybe she wasn't with Viktor. He could just take a quick peek. There was small stage at his end of the room and a four-piece band was playing music that he didn't recognize. He found a spot near the side of the stage where he could easily remain hidden among the curtains. He looked around the room. Several couples were dancing, and an instructor moved among them. Sometimes the instructor would step in to show one of the partners a technique. Skill level seemed to vary broadly among the dancers. Some couples barely needed any attention. Others needed quite a lot. As his eyes scanned the dancers, he finally saw Viktor and Hermione. They were on the opposite side of the room far from the stage. Viktor clearly knew the dance. Hermione seemed less sure, but she was following along and paying attention to what the instructor was saying. _How like her_ , Ron thought. As he watched the instruction, he decided he didn't like the dance. Viktor held Hermione too close. Their upper bodies were almost still. They only moved below the waist. As she moved back, he pressed relentlessly forward, always moving to the music, which Ron thought sounded strangely sad, and that wasn't improving his mood. After what seemed like a long time, the instructor clapped her hands, the band stopped playing, and the lights dimmed. The couples moved to the sides of the room, opening up the dance floor. The instructor spoke for a couple of minutes and then one of the other couples moved to the center of the floor. The band started again and the couple danced alone for a few minutes, until they were replaced by another couple. A few more couples went, and then at last, it was Viktor and Hermione's turn. Ron realized they were now potentially going to come a lot closer to where he stood. He cast another obfuscation spell, but he wasn't sure it would help. It was too late to leave without drawing attention, so he stood very still, hardly daring to breathe. If Hermione could feel his presence like he could feel hers, he was screwed.

Viktor and Hermione moved easily through the dance. He clearly already knew the steps well, and she was a quick study. Ron didn't like how high up on her rib cage Viktor's hand was. He was practically touching her breast. He didn't like how close their faces were. It was too intimate, too sexy, and yet somehow the music made it seem sad too. Fortunately, none of the other couples had danced for very long, so it would be over soon. Just as he thought he was in the clear, Viktor turned, and he saw Hermione's eyes flash open in his direction.

 _Bloody hell,_ he thought, but the song ended and everyone clapped. The instructor spoke again and Viktor said something to Hermione, and she said something back, and then Viktor walked toward the bar. Ron took the opportunity to slip back into the alley.

xXx

Hermione knew Ron was in the room the minute Viktor danced them toward the stage. She probably would have recognized him sooner had she not been concentrating on learning the tango. An awareness of him flooded her senses, she could feel him, could almost taste him in the air. Ever since she'd shared her magic with him after the war, she could feel his proximity, and she suspected he could do the same. She wondered what he was doing. An emergency wouldn't have him hiding in the curtains. The song ended and everyone clapped. The instructor announced that the bar was now open and that the dance hall would open to its regular customers. The whole class was invited to stay. Viktor smiled at her. "I will get us something to drink."

"That sounds good. I'm going to step out for a cigarette."

"Okay."

"I'll be back in a minute," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. A side door was open for ventilation, she saw the air ripple as Ron stepped through it. She followed him into the alley. He must have turned the wrong way, because as she stepped outside she could still feel his presence. It was cooler than it had been when she and Viktor had walked to the dance hall, but it was still pleasant outside. She looked at the dark end of the alley and knew Ron was there, hidden in the shadows. The alley was a dead end, so if he wanted out, he'd have to Disapparate, which she would hear, or he'd have to come past her. She closed the door to the dance hall. "I know you're there," she called to the darkness. "If you have something to say, just say it. You've stalked me to Europe, so there's no sense hiding in the shadows now." No answer came from the darkness, but she knew he was there. She could feel him as clearly as if he were standing next to her. She slipped her wand from her pocket and tapped it against her leg. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or is it that you can't face me if I'm in full possession of my faculties. You had so much to say when I was weak. Where are those words now, Ron? Where's that big tough bloke?"

xXx

Ron swallowed hard in the shadows and silently begged her not to cast an illumination charm or to start throwing curses at him. Going to Spain had been a horrible mistake. She felt stalked. She wasn't pining for him, she was furious. That wand tapping against her thigh filled him with dread while simultaneously turning him on.

"You, unrepentant coward!" she shouted into the night. "Go home. You aren't wanted here."

Ron stepped back as though struck. A coward was the worst thing one Gryffindor could call another, and she'd said it. Worse, she was right. He stayed hidden in the shadows, afraid even to Disapparate, because she'd recognize the sound. Hermione could Disapparate like a whisper, Harry with a quiet pop, but Ron, like most of his family, Disapparated rather loudly, more like a sharp clap. There was nothing to be done about it, but it was awkward at moments when discretion was called for. Unfortunately, using the Portkey would be even more obvious. There was a moment of silence as she stood there staring at the darkness, and Ron thought she could see right through him.

The side door of the dance hall opened and Viktor came out. He handed her a champagne flute.

"Champagne?" Hermione said. "What's the occasion?"

"Cava actually," Viktor said. "But we should celebrate your first tango lesson and that you put that bastard behind bars."

"Even though I rolled around on the floor and bit him?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow, acutely aware that Ron was standing within earshot.

"Especially because you did that," Viktor said, and touched his glass to hers. They each took a long drink. "Do you want to stay and dance?"

"I think I've had enough of this sort of dancing for tonight," Hermione said with a slow smile. She downed half of her cava.

Viktor raised his eyebrows in delighted surprise. "Then we should go," he said, tossing his glass to the ground. Hermione winged her glass as hard as she could in Ron's direction.

"Yes, let's," she said to Viktor.

He pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. She returned his ardor and Disapparated with him.

Ron stood in stunned silence with cava dripping down his face. Hermione's glass had shattered just above his head. He felt sick. He thought about the pencil stub in his pocket that was his Portkey home, but he didn't take it. Instead, he started walking. He walked for hours with the phrase 'unrepentant coward' reverberating through his mind. He knew why she called him a coward. Anyone would have, given that he was hiding behind a dumpster when she said it. 'Unrepentant' though, he didn't know that word. 'Unrepentant," he repeated to himself over and over. He wondered if Harry knew what it meant. 'Unrepentant' sounded like a Muggle word. Ron's father had a Muggle dictionary. Maybe it was better to just look it up rather than to ask Harry. As the sun started to rise, Ron realized he'd been walking all night. Suddenly exhausted, he pulled the pencil stub from his pocket and pressed his wand to it. A few minutes later, he was back on the tiny balcony of the flat above his shop.

xXx

Hermione lay awake fuming while Viktor slept soundly beside her. She glanced at him. Despite a rather athletic round of sex, she ended up doing something she never did, she faked an orgasm to bring an end to their evening. Viktor had grinned up at her from between her legs. He'd kissed her thigh. "That took longer than usual."

She'd smiled back at him. "Rough week. It was difficult to relax."

"I understand," he'd said, casting a cleaning charm on both of them. He'd stretched out beside her and leaned over to kiss her. "Go to sleep."

She'd nodded and he rolled over. She didn't go to sleep. Instead she played the encounter with Ron over and over in her mind. It irritated her that he had tracked her to Spain, and then for whatever reason, had hidden in the shadows like some kind of pervert. She wondered how he'd tracked her. Ron was capable of any number of spells, but that didn't mean that he knew them. He'd always been lazy about memorizing spells. If he knew a simple way to do something, he wasn't likely to learn the more complex spells to accomplish the same thing. She suspected the only way he knew to do a location charm was with some piece of the person he was looking for. Not only was it the simplest method, it was the most effective, most precise, and almost impossible to block. He must have something: a fingernail, a bloody rag, or a lock of hair. She clenched her jaw, furious that he would have kept such a thing and then used it in a non-emergency situation. She, in fact, a had a lock of Harry's hair, as well as Ron's, in a box in her beaded bag that she kept for emergencies, but she would never use them for anything that wasn't crucial. _The gall of that man!_

She started thinking about ways to block him from doing it again. She thought about it for a long time until she started to doze off, and then as sometimes happened to her, just on the edge of sleep, she had a stroke of genius. She sat bolt upright in bed. Viktor was still sound asleep. She slipped out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown and went into the parlor, closing the door quietly behind her.

xXx

Viktor woke to an empty bed. He looked at his watch. It was just after six. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and went out into the parlor. Hermione was at the table, with two large tomes open in front of her, furiously writing on a long piece of parchment. "How long have you been up?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice and turned to look at him. "I'm not sure. A while. What time is it?"

"Six," he said yawning.

"Oh, quite a while then."

"What are you working on?"

"Dragon's blood."

"What about it? Or can you not tell me?"

"Oh, I can tell you," she said excitedly. "Dragon's blood is a publicly available potion ingredient. Nothing secret about it."

He looked at the large books on the table. "Where did you get these?"

"They were in my purse."

"You travel with reference books?"

"Don't you?"

"This might surprise you. But no."

She chuckled. "Odd. I always do."

He kissed the top of her head. "You have a fascinating mind. Is there coffee?"

"Yes."

He went into the kitchen to pour a cup. "So, what are you doing with dragon's blood?"

"I think I've thought of another use for it."

Shocked he returned to the parlor. "Are you serious? I thought there were only twelve."

"I think there might be a thirteenth," she said, excitement all over her face. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in helping me test that theory."

"Of course, I would," he said, excited by the possibility. Hermione was not an easy woman, but she was a brilliant witch, which was the most alluring thing about her, and a new use for any potion ingredient was a big deal.

"Fantastic," she said. "We just have to get some dragon's blood. I didn't bring any with me."

"How odd," Viktor teased.

She chuckled.

xXx

Two hours later, they were the first customers of the day at the apothecary in the magical street off the Plaça Redona. Dragon's blood was very expensive, luckily Hermione only needed a little bit, so they bought an ounce and returned to the flat.

"What now?" Viktor asked.

Hermione pulled a large atlas from her bag, causing Viktor to chuckle.

"Oh stop," she said. Next, she took a pair of nail clippers and removed the end of her pinky nail and handed it to him. "I'm going to Disapparate. Come find me. If you haven't found me in five minutes. I'll come back." She took the dragon's blood and put a single, tiny drop on top of her head and set the bottle back on the table. She drew her wand and disappeared.

Viktor cast the location spell on her fingernail, but although his wand floated above the atlas the pages just kept flipping back and forth, never settling on a country. The closest he could figure was that she was somewhere in western Europe, since those were the pages flipping beneath his wand. Five minutes later, Hermione reappeared.

"It worked," she said with a grin.

"Yes," he said, and explained about the European pages.

"Hmm, I wonder if I try again using more blood if that will prevent you from seeing where I am at all."

"Try it."

After two more tries, one with two drops that narrowed it down to the northern hemisphere and then three that completely confused the spell, Hermione was exhausted from all the Apparating.

"Brilliant!" Viktor declared.

"Not entirely. Now you need to test it."

"Why?" Viktor said.

"Just because I can do something, doesn't mean everyone can. However, if you can do it, that will give me cause to test it with progressively lower powered witches and wizards to gauge whether it's really suitable for public release."

He frowned. He didn't like to be reminded that she was more powerful than he was, but he agreed to test it anyway. He trimmed a fingernail, put three drops of blood on top of his head and Disapparated.

Hermione used his fingernail and cast the location spell. She was delighted when her wand couldn't find him. _Perfect,_ she thought. _Try and track me again, Ron. See where it gets you._

When Viktor returned, Hermione hugged him. "I can't believe it worked!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious. He picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom, well of aware of how she liked to celebrate this sort of triumph. This time, she didn't fake anything.

xXx

For the rest of their time in Valencia, Viktor and Hermione spent their mornings continuing to test the dragon's blood. Hermione made a chart and they tracked how many drops provided how much coverage and for how long. They were eating enormous quantities of food to make up for all the calories they were burning doing so much Apparition. Breakfast they cooked themselves and then after a long morning of testing, they would go in search of a massive lunch somewhere. Valencia had a lot of good restaurants. After a post-lunch nap, they read or played cards on the balcony under an obfuscation charm and a warming charm so Hermione could lay out and expose the scar to the sun without drawing the attention of their Muggle neighbors or catching a cold. They spent their evenings dancing, mostly tango, and then going out for a late dinner, only to get up and repeat the whole thing again the next day. It was the most fun they'd had since those first few days together.


	7. Unrepentant

The day after Ron returned home he joined the rest of his family at the Burrow for Sunday dinner. Ron stayed later than he usually did as he waited for the rest of his siblings and their families to clear out. His mother went to bed leaving Ron and his father alone in the parlor. His father yawned.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son."

"Do you still have that big Muggle dictionary?"

"Of course," his father said, coming more fully awake. "Did you need to look up something?"

"Yeah, I heard a Muggle word the other day, and I don't know what it means."

"What's the word, maybe I know it," his father suggested.

"Unrepentant."

"Unrepentant, unrepentant," his father said, getting to his feet and heading to a wall of bookshelves on the other side of the room. "I don't know that one." He pulled out a large tome and thumbed through it. "Ah, here it is, unrepentant – showing no regret for one's wrongdoings. Remorseless."

"Oh," Ron said quietly.

"Where did you hear it?"

"On the street in Muggle London. One bloke yelling at another. I was just wondering what he was on about."

"Was there anything else?" his father asked, yawning again.

"No. Thanks for looking it up."

"All right, son, I'm off to bed then."

"Goodnight, dad. I'll pop off home."

"No hurry," his father said. "Stay the night if you like."

Ron didn't stay. He Apparated back into his flat and went out onto his tiny balcony for some air. It was cold, but he didn't care. He took a deep breath and thought for the millionth time about Hermione calling him an 'unrepentant coward.' Did she seriously think he didn't regret how things had ended between them? He couldn't understand how she could come to that conclusion.

xXx

Harry was in his office at Hogwarts the next day when the post arrived. The tawny owl looked like she'd traveled a long way. Harry took the letter from her and gave her treats and some fresh water. His own owl, Hafsa, made an irritated cluck at the visitor, but then closed her eyes and resumed napping on her perch. The envelope was addressed to him in Hermione's tidy script. He sat down to read. He looked up when he was done and saw that it was lunchtime. Rather than go down to the Great Hall, he decided to take the Floo to Ron's shop in Diagon Alley.

xXx

Ron was helping a customer when Harry stepped out of the shop's fireplace, so Harry milled about looking at the charmed televisions and radios on display and trying to look inconspicuous. He didn't venture into the alley very much because his presence drew a lot of attention. He regretted not doing a glamour charm before he left Hogwarts. It was easy to forget though, because the students had long since stopped fusing about him, and he liked that.

When Ron was done he went over to Harry. "Hey, what brings you out in the middle of the day?"

"I've had a letter from Hermione. I thought we could get some lunch and talk about it."

Ron felt all the blood drain from his face. He hadn't considered that she would write Harry about his blunder in Spain. He felt his heart sink. He needed to stall for time to come up with some kind of reasonable explanation for his behavior. "Now, isn't such a good time."

Harry looked around at the empty shop. "Oh?"

"I mean, I hadn't…" Ron looked around. Ken sat at the till flipping through a magazine. He sighed. "Yeah, all right. Ken, I'm going to lunch. I'll be back in an hour."

"Righto," Ken said without looking up from his magazine.

Ron looked at Harry. "Want to just go to my place? I can make sandwiches there, so we can eat without being interrupted every ten minutes, because someone wants to shake your hand."

"That sounds perfect." Harry followed Ron through the back of the shop, outside, and upstairs to his flat. He was surprised it wasn't messier. Dobby only came over once a week to clean. "The place looks good."

"Yeah, I don't want to live like a pig anymore. It's so nice to come home on the days Dobby cleans that I decided to try and keep it neater in the interim. It's not like it takes much effort with just me."

"Look at you being a responsible adult," Harry teased.

Ron sighed. "Some days more than others." He went into the kitchen and cut thin slices of cheddar cheese and an onion and took a jar of his mum's homemade pickle out of the icebox. "So what did Hermione have to say?"

"Right," Harry said. "Well, apparently when she was in Venice and Draco broke her ribs—"

Ron stopped slicing bread and looked up. "Hang on, he what?"

"They had a real fight, Ron, and you know she's not any good at that sort of thing. She ended up with a broken eye socket and cracked ribs."

Ron blew out a slow breath. "They didn't mention that in the paper. I mean, I saw the blood on her face in the photo, but I figured it was just a broken nose."

"No, but the team doctor fixed her up straight away."

Ron nodded grimly and started putting together the sandwiches.

"Anyway, obviously, in the fight, she dropped the glamour charm she uses on her scars, so when the doctor came to treat her, she saw the big one on her side and asked when she'd last had it seen to."

"Let me guess, never."

"Pretty much," Harry said.

"Yeah, I've never had mine looked at either."

"Right," Harry said, "Which is why she wrote me. Apparently, the team healer volunteered to work on the scar. Hermione was pretty resistant to the idea, but I guess Viktor insisted, so she finally went."

Ron frowned at the mention of Viktor.

"She said it was a painful procedure, but it only lasted ten minutes, and now the scar feels better than it ever has. She's going back for more treatments."

"Really?" Ron said.

"She suggested you and I might want to see healers and ask about the same treatment."

Ron rubbed his beard where the thick scar lay along the length of his jaw. "It would be nice if this didn't hurt so much."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Thing is, I know I have that big mark on my chest, but it isn't really a scar, it's more of a stain, and it doesn't hurt anymore. It did when it first happened but not anymore, and the scar on my head doesn't either, so I don't really need to see a healer, but I know your jaw still hurts, so I wanted to tell you as soon as I got the letter."

Ron smiled at him. "Thanks mate. I'll definitely look into it." He handed Harry a sandwich and to Ron's great relief, they talked about other things. No mention was made of his disastrous trip to Spain. Hermione hadn't ratted him out to Harry, which he found heartening. When Harry left, Ron didn't immediately go back to the shop. Instead, he sent a note via Pigwidgeon asking Ken to close up. He started a fire and sat down on the sofa to stare at the flames. Hermione used to be the one to start the fires. He used to love all the permutations of fire she could cast. Elementals were some of her best magic, in his opinion, and hardly anyone ever got see it. He supposed these days she made clever fires for Viktor, that Bulgarian bastard, with his fancy dancing and his bloody professional Quidditch. Ron blew out a frustrated breath. He hadn't slept well since he got back from Spain. He kept having nightmares about their life over Fred and George's shop, but the dreams were muddled and cloudy, like his mind had been after the war. He knew he drank too much back then and that she had gone virtually mute after her parents died. It hadn't been a good time. He knew that, but the details were all so foggy. He could recall shouting at her a few times, and vaguely remembered grabbing her, just trying to shake some sense into her, but none of it was clear. The idea of grabbing her like that, even for a moment, made him intensely uncomfortable. He wouldn't hurt her. He would never do that. Not that he could if he wanted to, she was more powerful than him, especially right after the war. He'd been so useless back then, no magic, muddleheaded, and all made worse with fire whiskey. He sighed. Unrepentant. He was not unrepentant. He regretted all of it. If he could go back and change it, he would. Some days, he'd give anything for a Time-turner.

xXx

A few weeks later, Ron was having breakfast with Harry and Ginny before they all went to play Quidditch. Ginny was reading a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ while Ron and Harry debated the merits of the Chudley Cannons team roster.

"Hermione is just on fire lately," Ginny commented.

"Why do you say that?" Ron asked around a mouthful of toast.

"She developed that Quidditch pitch cushion at the end of last year, and now she's gone and found another use for dragon's blood," Ginny explained.

"I thought Dumbledore already discovered the last of those," Ron said.

"Not if you believe Ivor Dillonsby," Harry quipped.

"A thirteenth use for dragon's blood though," Ginny said. "That's a pretty big deal."

"Is it though?" Harry asked. "Because one of the uses is as oven cleaner, and that doesn't seem like a big deal."

Ginny read aloud. "Dragon's blood can be used to prevent a location spell from finding its target, even if the caster has a personal item like a fingernail or lock of hair."

"Huh," Harry said. "Clever. I guess biting Draco made her think of that."

"Probably," Ron muttered, feeling his face go hot.

"Not according to Hermione," Ginny said, and Ron felt his stomach drop. "The reporter asked if she'd thought of it because of tracking Draco and she said no." She read aloud again. "'It came to me mostly out of a desire for privacy. No one wants to be stalked across the globe.' When asked whether someone had been stalking her, Miss Granger evaded the question answering, 'we all like time to ourselves, don't we?" Ginny looked up. "Apparently, that's how she ended the interview." Standing, Ginny picked up her plate and returned to the kitchen. "A genius that girl."

"Yeah," Ron mumbled.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," Ginny called from the kitchen.

"Okay," Harry said. When Ginny was out of earshot he turned on Ron. "Please tell me you weren't the one stalking her."

Ron hated that he couldn't control his blushing. "It's none of your business, Harry."

"None of my—are you serious? I told you to talk to her, not to track her down like a dog."

"Well, you might have mentioned that the last time we talked about her," Ron grumbled.

Harry glanced at the ceiling, desperate for Ginny not to know he'd suggested Ron talk to Hermione about his feelings. "Sorry, but it didn't occur to me that I needed to tell you not to run a location spell on her. What did she say when you found her?"

"Um, well, we didn't really talk…per se."

"What's that supposed to mean? Tell me you didn't just peer in her windows."

"No! Of course not. I just cast a location spell to see where she was and she happened to be in Valencia."

"Spain?" Harry said, aghast. "You followed her out of the country? Seriously?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Harry clapped a hand over his eyes. "But you didn't talk to her?"

"No." Ron explained what happened.

Harry shook his head. "You're lucky all she threw at you was a champagne flute."

"Tell me about it. I expected her to start casting jinxes at me. She probably would have, but Viktor came out."

"I can't believe you let her see you. Why didn't you cast an obfuscation spell, or better yet, just go home?"

"Like I need you to tell me that." Ron considered telling Harry about his ability to feel Hermione's presence and his suspicions that she could do the same to him, but he decided not to, since it would likely just make him sound more like a crazy stalker.

"Why didn't you tell me this when we had lunch the other day?"

"Believe it or not, Harry, I'm not usually in a big rush to share the boneheaded things I do."

"But Ron—"

"But what? Were you going to do run over and fix it for me? You can't fix this. I can't fix this. It's just…we're broken. Okay?"

Harry shook his head sadly.

"Look, maybe you're right. Maybe she's not in love with Viktor, but they looked pretty happy in Spain, and she sure as hell doesn't want me."

Ginny came back downstairs, carrying her broom. "You guys ready to go?"

"Yeah," Ron said, standing.

xXx

The next day, Harry saw Hermione quite by accident in the main hall of the Ministry of Magic. She was on her way to lunch, and he had just finished getting permits for a project they were doing with the students at Hogwarts. He literally bumped into her in the crowded hallway.

"Hermione?"

"Harry!" They hugged.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm good. Just on my way to lunch."

Harry was pleased to see that she looked like herself. She still seemed too thin, but her hair was down and curly, like she used to wear it in school. "I was going to get lunch too, mind if I tag along?"

"I'd be delighted."

They made their way to The Leaky Cauldron, managed to find a table in the back, and sat down.

"So, what brings you into the city?" Hermione asked.

"Permits. You wouldn't believe some of the hoops the school has to jump through just to do the simplest things. It's like they don't trust us."

Hermione chuckled. "I'm sure that's annoying, but given some of the shenanigans that went on Hogwarts, can you blame them?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't suppose you have that problem in your line of work."

"The Ministry would rather not know what the Department of Mysteries is doing most of the time. There's a reason they call us Unspeakables."

Harry nodded. "Having been in your department fifth year, I can understand why."

"It's slightly less disturbing when you know what you're looking at."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Only slightly?"

"Yes. Many of the department's activities remain fairly terrifying."

"And yet you chose to work there." Harry shook his head.

She shrugged. "Terrifying but fascinating. There really isn't anything else like it."

"I'll take your word for it. Do you know what you want?"

"I'm starved. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, so I think I want bangers and mash with mushy peas and a glass of pumpkin juice."

"All right then." Harry got up to place their order at the bar. He was pleased that she hadn't ordered anything stronger to drink and wondered if maybe she was trying to cut back. She'd been completely legless at his and Ginny's wedding and fairly drunk at Seamus and Lavender's wedding. When he'd seen her at her place in London a few months ago, she was clearly coming off a night of drunken debauchery. Even when he'd seen her recently at the Burrow, he could smell wine on her breath. When he got back to the table, she smiled at him.

"You look good," he said.

"Thanks, so do you. How's Ginny?"

"Good. The pub is doing really well. I wasn't sure about it when she said she wanted to buy the Three Broomsticks, but it turned out to be a good idea."

"That's great."

"Everyone loves Ginny. I think she's half the draw for the place."

"I'm sure," Hermione said, smiling again.

Their food came sailing over and they both plucked their plates out of the air.

"Fish and chips still your favorite, I see," Hermione said.

"You know me."

Her smile faded. "I used to."

Harry sighed and put down the chip he was about to pop into his mouth. "I'm sorry about that. I've been a rotten friend to you. I'd like to change that if you'll let me."

"You haven't been a rotten friend. You're married to his sister. We put you in an awful position."

Harry shook his head. "No. I never meant it to seem like I'd chosen sides. Anyway, you've both moved on. It's time I did too. I want to see you on a regular basis, like real friends do."

"How does Ginny feel about that?"

"Fine. Gin knows breakups are never just one sided."

"Right," Hermione said softly, looking away.

"So, I was thinking, we could have dinner, the four us. What do you think?"

"Really?"

"Absolutely. You and Viktor have been together for quite a while now, it's time we got to know him better, don't you think?"

Hermione twisted the napkin in her lap. "I guess."

"Great," Harry said cheerily. "When do you think you two might be available?"

"Well, it's the middle of Quidditch season, so it could be awhile," Hermione said.

"Okay. Talk to Viktor, then let me know some dates, and we'll work it out."

Hermione nodded. "All right then." She poked at her food for a moment and then remembered she'd want to speak to Harry about another matter. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you today. I keep trying to remember to bring up an issue at work with you."

"Really? I thought you couldn't talk about work." Harry popped another chip in his mouth.

"This isn't a project, well, I suppose it might be tangential to a project, but not one of mine. Anyway, one of the others wants to talk to me about my experiences with a Time-Turner."

Harry set down his fork. "Why?"

"Because he investigates time for a living, and I've had an unusual experience with it."

"Oh," Harry said. "So, what did you tell him?"

"Nothing yet. I keep putting him off. I wanted to talk to you first before I said anything."

"How did he even know you had one?"

"Apparently, the records of their use are quite thorough."

Harry leaned toward her and whispered. "Does that mean he knows about Sirius and Buckbeak?"

"I don't know. I thought I'd just leave that bit out. I have plenty to tell him about using it to increase my class load."

"I should think so. Make sure you mention how crazy it made you after a while."

She frowned at him. "So, noted."

"What will you say if he does ask about the other thing?"

"I don't know. It wasn't exactly legal. On the other hand, Sirius has been exonerated, so I can't imagine that would come back on us, especially given who you are."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Who we both are."

She made a noncommittal noise. "I could just leave you out of the story."

"That might work, as long as the person you're telling doesn't know your history of flying."

"Oh, you're right. He'd know I'd never be able to fly a hippogriff on my own."

Harry shrugged. "If he knows to ask, tell him the truth. I doubt he plans to have us arrested."

"No. Fine. I'll tell him, but only if he asks."

"Good." Harry picked up another chip. The rest of the meal was spent catching up on mutual friends.

xXx

The following week, Hermione was in Thomas Greene's office trying not to appear as nervous as she felt.

"Relax," Thomas said. "Nothing you say to me will go beyond this office. No one will get in trouble."

"In trouble for what?"

Thomas arched an eyebrow at her. "You know for what, but I'm not interested in that. I'm more curious how you got the Time-turner in the first place and what the ramifications were for using for it for such a long period."

"Um, well..." Hermione nervously clutched the fabric of her long robes. "I guess it started when I was discussing the classes I wanted to take with Professor McGonagall, and she told me that some of the courses overlapped, so I'd have to choose which ones to drop."

"You're kidding," Thomas said, his eyes wide.

"No. That's how it started."

He shook his head. "You were handed one of the most dangerous instruments ever invented so you could take extra classes?"

"Yes," she said, biting her bottom lip.

"Wow." Thomas sat back in his chair, clearly dumbfounded. "I've heard people say Dumbledore was reckless, but that borders on depraved. How old were you?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. She'd thought much the same thing about Dumbledore at times. "Fourteen." Saying that out loud somehow made it worse. Giving her the Time-turner could have gone horribly awry.

"Why do you think he would risk something like that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he trusted his opinion of people and thought I could handle it."

"Given his history with Grindelwald, I don't know that he was such a great judge of character," Thomas said, frowning.

Hermione let out a soft snort. "Maybe not. Nonetheless, I got it."

"Right. And you used it for most of the year. What was that like?"

"At first it wasn't bad, but as the months wore on, it was exhausting, but also kind of exhilarating. The workload was tremendous, and given everything else that was going on that year, I was pretty frazzled. Thank goodness for Ron. He really stepped in to help keep me sane."

Thomas nodded. "All right, so walk me through a typical day."

Hermione recounted her daily use of the Time-turner. Thomas had more questions. She didn't leave his office until late that night.


	8. Dinner with Friends

A month passed before there was a break in Viktor's schedule. The four of them decided to meet for dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah Abbot, who ran the pub and inn, offered them a private room for dinner, so they could eat in peace, and Harry felt like it would be nice for Ginny to have a break from the Three Broomsticks. Unfortunately, when Viktor and Hermione arrived and were shown to the private room where Harry already waited, Ginny wasn't there.

"I'm so sorry," Harry said, standing. "Ginny's night bartender came down with Mumblemumps and she had to fill in. She's really disappointed not to be here."

"I'm sorry she couldn't make it," Hermione said. She was looking forward to seeing Ginny and getting a chance to really talk. They all sat down and a water pitcher floated over and filled their glasses.

"Running your own business seems like a great burden," Viktor commented.

"It can be," Harry said. "But she really loves it. And I have to say, if you want to keep abreast of public sentiment and really know what's going on, being a publican is pretty much the best way to do it."

Hermione chuckled. "So, Ginny keeps tabs for you, while you stay squirreled away at Hogwarts. How convenient."

Harry shrugged. "The kids don't bother about me anymore, which isn't so much the case elsewhere. I still cause a hubbub wherever I go in the magical world. I have to do a glamour charm just to go to the market."

Hermione and Viktor nodded sympathetically. "When we go out it's generally to house parties hosted by friends where we're less likely to be ambushed by the press," she said.

"Or we simply leave England," Viktor said. "Even then sometimes we stay in Muggle hotels or at a private residence."

"Yes, we do that sometimes as well, but I'm more of a homebody. All those years on the run, I suppose," Harry said.

Hermione sighed. "Yes. Sometimes, I still feel like I'm being hunted."

"The press here are relentless," Viktor said.

Harry nodded. "Tell me about it."

Hermione stood. "Excuse me."

When she left the room, Viktor turned to Harry. "I do not understand why the public is so mean to her. They seem to both love her for her accomplishments and hate her for being with me. The things they say…" He shook his head.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I think that's just because right after the war people got very caught up in the narrative of her relationship with Ron. You know: met as children, fought side-by-side, their mutual sacrifice so I could finish things with Voldemort, and then their long recovery. The public got caught up in the fairytale of it all and the press kept feeding it with updates."

Viktor frowned. "Yes, well, like many fairytales, there is a grim reality that no one seems willing to talk about."

"How do you—?"

"Sorry about that," Hermione said coming back into the room. "Where were we?"

"We should look at the menus," Viktor said, handing her one. He smiled at Harry. "We are bad about talking and then the waiter comes and we have not chosen our meals."

Harry nodded and opened his own menu, but what he really wanted was for Hermione to go somewhere else so he could find out what Viktor meant by 'grim realities.'

When the waiter came, Hermione ordered shepherd's pie, and Viktor and Harry both got curries. They all ordered Dragon Scale ale to go along with their meals and continued talking while they waited for the food.

Viktor was a lot less brooding than Harry remembered from the Triwizard Tournament, and he regaled them with stories from the current year's Quidditch matches. He wasn't boasting. He told stories of the triumphs of the team as a whole, or funny stories about other players he knew. He was fairly self-effacing when it came to his own accomplishments. Hermione would occasionally comment if she felt that he'd left out one of his significant contributions. Harry, as a big Quidditch fan, enjoyed the conversation very much. It was fun to gain insights into his favorite players. For the most part, Hermione was quiet. If Viktor noticed, he didn't say anything. Like Harry, he did notice her drinking, so when she raised her glass to be refilled by the floating jug for the third time, he leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Make this the last one."

Harry pretended not to notice Hermione glare at Viktor, who sighed and ignored the glare and returned his attention to a story Harry was telling about a fight that had happened at the Three Broomsticks earlier in the week.

As they were getting ready to leave, Harry hugged Hermione and said, "Why don't you two come to our place next time? Dobby can make dinner, and we can relax and enjoy the evening."

"That sounds fantastic," Hermione said.

"Yes," Viktor agreed.

xXx

When they left, Harry Disapparated home. When Ginny returned to Grimmauld Place after midnight, he was still in the parlor.

"Hey, you didn't need to wait up," Ginny said.

He sighed. "I did though. I wanted to talk to you about dinner."

"Oh." Ginny sat down on the other end of the sofa to face him. "Did it not go well?"

"It went fine. Better than I expected actually. I sort of thought it might be awkward, at least at first, but it really wasn't. I guess when I knew Viktor in school he was kind of broody and a little surly, but I think that was mostly due to the circumstances, and you know, he was a teenager then. He was actually a lot of fun tonight."

"And Hermione?"

"Was okay. She was really disappointed you weren't there, and she was kind of quiet but not upset or anything. All in all, it was a good night, if a bit weird to be sitting there with Viktor next to her instead of Ron."

Ginny patted his knee. "I know, luv, I know."

"The thing is when we first sat down we were talking about the issues of dealing with notoriety, and then Hermione got up to use the loo or something, and Viktor commented that he didn't understand the public's love/hate thing with Hermione. I said that, after the war, people had gotten really caught up in the fairytale of her relationship with Ron. Viktor's response was that like most fairytales there was a grim reality underneath that no one wanted to talk about. Except, I really do want to talk about it."

"And?" Ginny said.

"And then Hermione came back, so I couldn't ask him what he meant, but I think it's clear, he knows what happened at the end of their relationship."

"That's not surprising. I mean she had to talk to someone, right?"

"She should've talked to one of us. Or even better, both of us."

Ginny sighed. "Harry, we've been over this. We were dealing with our own problems at the time."

"I would have been there for her, if she'd come to me. She didn't give me the chance."

"I know." She sighed again. "Look, whatever it was that went on between the two of them, we know it was bad. We know he was drinking a lot. We know he wasn't in his right mind. And let's be honest, we both know she wouldn't have left him over something minor. He did something, Harry. Something really bad. Now, I don't know what it was. I don't like to dwell on that too much, because I don't want to be angry at him, and there's nothing to be done about it now anyway. Besides, when she first left, he was in such a state, I was angry at her, which wasn't really fair, but at the time, I felt like she'd just dumped him on us to deal with, and we already had so much on our plate."

"I know. I kind of felt like that too, especially since she didn't bother telling us why."

Ginny squeezed his knee. "Maybe she just couldn't say it. Maybe he cheated on her and she couldn't bring herself to tell us. To her credit, she's never said it publicly either. She's taken a lot of abuse from the press over leaving him and still hasn't said anything. So, I hope Viktor does know, because then at least she's talked to someone."

Harry closed his eyes. He knew Ron had cheated on Hermione at least once, because he'd walked in on him getting a knob job at the Leaky Cauldron. Ron had been three sheets to the wind at the time, and Harry hadn't recognized the witch, but no doubt she was drunk too. After the war, it seemed like everyone was drunk every night. Still, he couldn't think how Hermione would know about that. He'd never said anything, and he couldn't imagine Ron telling her, although, he could be pretty mean when he was drunk, so maybe he did. Maybe it wasn't the first time, although Ron insisted it had only happened that once. Harry looked at Ginny. "I hate this. Viktor is a nice guy, and she seems okay, but I still hate this." The problem was that Ron was better now, back to himself, in some ways better than ever, so it was hard to remember how awful he'd been. He clearly missed Hermione, despite the seemingly endless parade of witches by his side, so it was also hard not to side with him, not to want her to just let go of whatever transgressions he'd made against her in those awful days after the war, but Harry knew that wasn't fair.

"So, you think he did cheat on her then? That's what happened?"

Harry sighed. He couldn't confirm that, he wasn't a hundred percent sure that was what happened between them, and he didn't want to tell Ginny what's he'd seen. He wouldn't betray either one of them, even to Ginny. He shook his head sadly. "I don't know."

Ginny leaned back against the sofa and stared at the ceiling. "What else could it be?"

"I don't know," Harry said again.

"She was so quiet after her parents were murdered."

"Understandable."

"Of course, I didn't mean it wasn't. I'm not sure how I would have survived something like that. I just meant, she was so quiet, it was hard to know what she was thinking. She kind of disappeared into the Ministry, and even when she was home, it was like she was invisible."

Harry nodded. "I should have talked to her more. I should have tried harder. Ron was in no fit state to help her. Why wasn't I there for her? Bloody hell."

Ginny shook her head and frowned at him. "You did help them. You provided most of their recovery care when they finally left St. Mungo's and came to the Burrow."

"But after her parents were murdered, I didn't try to draw her out. I should have talked to her more."

"You died and then you came back. That wasn't an insignificant thing to go through. You weren't in anymore of a fit state to talk her through what happened than Ron was. If anyone should have tried harder with her, it was me."

"But you had your hands full with me," Harry said.

"Right. Everyone had their hands full with injuries, funerals, and rebuilding. She fell through the cracks. It was no one's fault what happened. It just happened, and she coped. Look at where she is now. Two major magical accomplishments in less than two years and living with an International Quidditch star, who's a nice guy. I know you're sad Hermione isn't with Ron, and I know Ron's sad about that. I am too, but she's come out of this okay. You've got to let this play out the way it plays out, because there's nothing you can do to change any of it anyway."

"I just wish I'd done more for her at the time."

"That's not fair. Don't judge what you did then based on how you feel now. You did the best you could. We were all just hanging on after the war, and we survived. That's a win all around in my book."

Harry looked at her and smiled. She was so beautiful and so fierce when she defended him even to himself. "I love you so much."

She smiled at him. "I love you too."

xXx

When Viktor and Hermione returned home, he said, "I think that went well."

"Yes, me too. But I'm sorry Ginny couldn't be there. You'd really like her."

"I am sure I would."

"I was afraid dinner would be awkward, but it really wasn't." Hermione released the charms holding her hair up.

"No. It was fun."

She nodded and went to get ready for bed. Viktor watched her go and thought about their evening. He liked Harry, and he had every confidence that he would like his wife too. He was surprised that Hermione hadn't reached out to them sooner. Perhaps since they broke the ice, she would in the future.

xXx

The next day, Hermione lay on the exam table while Healer Krastevich cast another spell on the scar on her side.

"I think that's it for today," the healer said, pocketing her wand. She held out a hand to help Hermione sit up. "How does it feel?"

"Good."

"Excellent. Let's make it three weeks before your next appointment," Krastevich said.

Hermione smiled. "All right then. Um…"

"Was there something else?"

"I have a medical question, or maybe it's more of a magical question, a friend asked me, and I don't know the answer, and I'm not sure how to go about finding it."

"Ask."

"Well, this friend, has an ex that she was very close to at one point, and even though they've been apart for over a year, she's kind of…connected to him."

"In what way?"

"She always knows when he's nearby even if she can't see him."

"Huh," Krastevich said. "That's an unusual connection. Did one of them do something to precipitate it?"

Hermione cleared her throat and looked away. She said that one time she shared her magic with him.

"Oh. That's a serious bonding ritual."

"She didn't know that at the time."

"It's how people used to marry before the modern spells came in to play."

"Right. Again, she didn't know that at the time. What she wants to know is whether it can be reversed."

"It can. But it takes hours and both parties have to be together. It's also rather painful."

"Oh," Hermione said, crestfallen. She couldn't imagine even broaching the subject with Ron, not that it sounded like anything she wanted to experience anyway. "That probably wouldn't be possible then. Thanks anyway."

Krastevich looked at her, her brow wrinkled in concern. "She should still consider it. Old magical bonds don't break or ease over time. She'll be connected to him for the rest of her life.

"Right." Hermione knew, bond or not, she'd be connected to Ron for the rest of her life anyway.

xXx

Ron stood outside St. Mungo's staring at the entrance. On the outside it looked to be the long-closed department store, Purge and Dowse, Ltd. He didn't want to go in. He hadn't been inside since he was finally released from the hospital after the war, and the idea of going in now left him vaguely nauseated. Perversely, the scar along his jaw was killing him. He had no idea why. Some days it just hurt more than others. The pain was always a dull roar in the back of his mind, but most of the time he could ignore it. Today was not one of those days. Hermione had said this procedure hurt, but it worked. He sighed and stepped through a display window in the front of the old store. She'd never steered him wrong before.

The welcome witch was delighted to meet him and happily told him he needed to go to the fourth floor.

"I'm not staying," Ron said with some alarm.

"Of course not," the witch said warmly. "But that's the floor that deals with curses, hexes and other magically induced damage. You'll be treated as an outpatient. Don't worry, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh. Right then. I'll just go up."

She smiled encouragingly.

He took the elevator and had a moment of panic when he came out on the fourth floor to its rows of beds and healers moving about in their lime green robes. He'd spent months there after the war. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Hermione had said that, although the treatment hurt, it only took ten minutes. He could do anything for ten minutes. Then he could leave. No problem. No problem at all, only his feet wouldn't move.

"Ron Weasley?" a young healer said. She was lovely. She had long curly blonde hair that reminded him so much of Hermione's that he wanted to sink his hands into it. She was the right height too.

He couldn't help smiling at her. "That's me."

"This way," she said.

He followed her happily, trying to determine the shape of her beneath those lime green robes, but traditional wizarding robes made that all but impossible. It was fun to try though.

"I'm Michelle Cabrera," she said, as they walked down the hall. "I'm studying under Healer Bryant."

"You're a student? When did you graduate?"

"Last June," she said, smiling.

"Ravenclaw?" Ron guessed.

Her smile broadened. "Yes."

He took a risk. "Top of your class?"

She stopped and cocked her head at him. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Just something about you," Ron said warmly. Talking to her reminded him even more of Hermione. She just emanated clever.

She shook her head, smiling. "Okay. This is the treatment room." She opened the door to a small room with a narrow, raised bed in the center. "Since we'll be working on your jaw, it's not necessary for you to change clothes. Just lie down and relax. Healer Bryant will be with you in a moment. Do you mind if I stay for the procedure? It's okay if you don't want me too."

"You can stay. I wouldn't want to interfere with your education."

There was that smile again. "Thanks."

"No problem."

A few minutes later, when Healer Bryant cast the first spell on his scar, Ron regretted telling Michelle she could stay. The pain was intense, and he was trying not to show it. The healer put some kind of gel potion on his hands and began to work his fingers around the scar.

"Try and relax," Healer Bryant said. "I know it hurts."

"It's all right," Ron said through clenched teeth. "Maybe just ease up a bit."

"I'm barely touching you, Mr. Weasley."

"Seriously? It feels like you're trying to pull my jawbone through my skin."

"Can you go a bit longer?"

"Yeah," Ron said, conscious that Michelle was studiously watching the procedure.

The healer cast another spell and then resumed working on the scar for another minute. Finally, he cast a third spell. "That's us done for the day."

Ron sat up and was shocked to realized how much better his jaw felt. He ran his fingers along the scar. His beard was sticky with gel. "That's amazing."

"Yes. It'll take more sessions, but we should be able to make it permanently much less painful."

"Wow," Ron said. "I wish I'd come in sooner."

The healer nodded. "Me too, but I certainly understand your reticence to come back here. Now that you've done this, perhaps you could convince Miss Granger to come in."

"Actually, she convinced me. She's having her scar treated privately."

"Ah," the healer said. "Well, good. As long as someone is seeing to it."

"How many sessions do you think we'll need?"

"Probably ten, maybe a few more. We'll assess as we go." The healer thrust out his hand and Ron shook it. "I'll see you next week then. Michelle will make your appointment." He turned to his young assistant. "Cast a cleaning charm on his beard. He doesn't want to go out with it all sticky."

"Yes, sir," Michelle said, drawing her wand.

Ron smiled as she cast the cleaning charm. He might actually enjoy the next ten weeks.


	9. Puddlemere United

Ron had had had several treatments at St. Mungo's by the time he went to the Puddlemere United training center in Dorset. He had been hesitant to go at first, given that was where Viktor worked, but Puddlemere United was a strong contender again for the European cup. Seeing the owner of the team about the broadcast of their next match was so significant, that he felt he should handle it himself.

"So, we're all set for tonight's game broadcast?" the owner was saying as they sat in his lavish office overlooking the stadium on one side and the massive indoor practice facility on the other. Ron had been to a lot of Quidditch grounds, but Puddlemere United's was by far the most impressive he'd seen.

Ron nodded. "John and Walid will be here an hour before the game to make sure everything is working."

"Oh, you're not doing the broadcast?"

"Not this time. I've got to be in Ireland for another game."

The owner looked surprised.

Ron smiled apologetically. "I'm a Cannons fan, and you lot trounced us so bad last time that it still smarts."

The owner chuckled. "Say no more. Understood. A man has to maintain his loyalties. When I was a lad…"

But Ron had stopped listening. A tingle ran up his spine and he was suddenly and acutely aware that Hermione was in the building. He didn't understand why the longer they were apart the more intense the awareness was, but that was the truth of the situation. He both loved and hated the awareness.

"…so, I know just how you feel," the owner finished.

There was a beat of silence before Ron tuned in. "I appreciate that. John and Walid are both excellent wizards. You won't be disappointed with their casting."

"Great," the owner said. "I know you're not a fan, but would you like a tour of the facility. I'd be happy to get one of the guys to walk you around. I'd do it myself but I'm due in London in a few minutes."

Ron smiled. "That would be great." He did want a tour, not just because what he'd seen so far looked amazing, but he also wanted to see Hermione.

"I'll walk you down to the gym then. I'm sure Oliver would be happy to show you around."

"Oliver and I were in school together. It would be nice to see him again."

"I didn't know that," the owner said, smiling broadly.

They chatted amicably as they walked down the hall, but Ron was only half listening as they passed trophy case after trophy case and giant paintings of their most noted players interspaced with team photos from the last century. He was carefully gauging his feelings to try and discern whether he was getting closer or further away from Hermione. He was definitely getting closer.

xXx

Healer Krastevich was frowning at Hermione. "I don't understand. The scar has seemed better with every session, and yet, now it looks like it did weeks ago. What have you been doing?"

Hermione squirmed under the scrutiny. "My work occasionally requires an intense outlay of magic."

Healer Krastevich's frown deepened. "You shouldn't do that. It's clearly setting back your progress. Doesn't it hurt?"

"I don't do a lot of practical magic at work, but sometimes I can't avoid it."

"You might consider a different job."

Hermione frowned. "You sound like Viktor."

The healer raised her eyebrows and gave Hermione a pointed look.

"I really can't. What I do is…it's what I do. I won't give it up."

Healer Krastevich sighed. "Then this will continue to be a problem."

"I understand if you don't want to continue—"

"I didn't say that," the healer said crossly, shoving her hands deeply into the pockets of her lime green robes. "It's more important than ever for you to have someone minding the scars since you're clearly not doing it."

"I appreciate that."

The healer's expression softened. "All right then. Lay down, let's get this done."

xXx

Ten minutes later, Hermione was sitting on the side of the exam table catching her breath when she felt Ron's unmistakable presence. She knew he was probably there because he broadcast Quidditch matches on those television sets he sold, but she didn't know all the magic behind it or how many people it took or anything else. Normally, she would have been interested in such a magical feat, but since it was Ron's accomplishment, she was less keen to be impressed by his cleverness. She'd known he was clever for years. Ron's problem had never been a lack of intelligence but a lack of self-confidence along with a strong lazy streak, but he seemed to have overcome both problems. She sighed. He really was better off without her.

"Are you okay?" Healer Krastevich asked when Hermione didn't get off the table.

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, coming back to the moment. "I'm fine. Just needed to catch my breath. I should probably stop smoking."

The healer frowned. "You should definitely stop smoking. Take a deep breath."

Hermione shook her head. "I was just joking."

"Take a deep breath," the healer insisted. "And hold it."

Hermione complied, and Krastevich cast a spell. Hermione felt her chest expand and let out the breath.

"I can clear your lungs, but you should still quit."

"Right," Hermione said. "I'll take that under advisement."

Krastevich rolled her eyes. "Sure, you will."

"I might," Hermione said, getting off the table. "I mean it's not as though I think it's a good habit or anything. I don't go around encouraging others to smoke and extolling it's virtues."

"Then why do it?" Krastevich put away her wand.

"It makes me feel closer to my father and calms my mind a bit."

Krastevich sighed. "All right then. Same time next week?"

Hermione smiled. "I'll be here. Thank you."

"I'll see you next week then. Don't cancel."

"I'll try not to. Seriously."

Krastevich shook her head good-naturedly. "Yeah, yeah, go on then."

Hermione stepped outside the exam room, adjusting her shirt as she did. She didn't know exactly where Ron was, but she knew he was close, and it made her uncomfortable that he might see her dressed in running shorts and a T-shirt. She preferred the armor of full witches' robes or even a fancy dress, charmed makeup, and her hair done. She felt vulnerable dressed so casually with her hair in a long braid and no makeup on. As usual, Viktor was waiting for her in the antechamber outside the exam rooms. He was in loose, gray workout pants and a faded Bulgarian National Team tank top, which showed off the muscles in his arms.

"How did it go?" he asked as they walked through the medical center and out into the gym.

"Fine. How was your workout?"

"Good. What did she say about the scars?"

"Nothing. I'm starved. You want to get lunch?"

"It is only ten-thirty."

"I didn't eat breakfast."

He frowned at her. "I know what you are doing."

"Trying to convince you to take an early lunch?" she said glibly, hoping to lighten his mood.

Instead his frown deepened. "What did she say?"

"Can we not discuss this here?"

He looked around. A few of his teammates were on the far side of the cavernous room lifting weights, but otherwise, they were alone. "Why? They cannot hear us and would not care if they could."

"I care." She knew he was right. The massive Quidditch gym was huge with tremendously high, enchanted ceilings so the team could practice in any kind of weather.

"Really? Your medical history filled the _Daily Prophet_ for the better part of a year. What do you imagine there is that they do not already know?"

Down the gym a door opened and Oliver Wood walked in with Ron.

xXx

Oliver was walking down the hall toward the gym when Ron and the owner of Puddlemere United came downstairs. "Oliver!" The owner called. "Just the man I was looking for. You know Ron Weasley."

"Yeah." Oliver shook Ron's hand. "It's been ages."

"It has," Ron said smiling. "How are you?"

"I'm good. What can I do for you this morning?"'

"I was hoping you could show him around the facility. I'd do it myself, but I'm off to London," the owner said.

"I'd be happy to." Oliver smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Great," the owner said. "I'll leave you to it." He shook Ron's hand and headed back down the hall.

"Can we start with the gym?" Ron asked. "I could see it from his office. It looks amazing."

"Sure," Oliver said, pushing open one of the double doors that led into the massive space.

Ron had never been in a room so large, but the effect was somewhat lost on him, because standing only a few yards away was Hermione. She was with Viktor, and they both appeared dressed to workout. Ron was amused by the idea of Hermione working out. Nothing could be more unlike her. Viktor was saying something, but Hermione had clearly noticed Ron, because she turned her head and stared straight at him.

"The weight lifting area is over here," Oliver said, trying to draw Ron's attention, but he was already striding toward Hermione as if pulled by a string.

Viktor turned to see what she was looking at and frowned.

"Hullo," Ron said.

Oliver gave Viktor an apologetic grimace.

Viktor clenched his jaw but shook Ron's hand when it was offered. "Hello." But Ron barely gave him a glance. He smiled at Hermione. "You work out now?"

Viktor snorted. "Hardly."

Hermione cut her eyes at him. "No. I'm here for treatment on the scar. The team healer was kind enough to offer."

"Yeah," Ron said. "I've been meaning to send you an owl to thank you for mentioning the treatment to Harry. I've been going, and it's made a huge difference." He rubbed his jaw.

"I'm glad," Hermione said awkwardly. Ron wouldn't stop running his eyes over her, and she wanted to kick him for it. She could feel Viktor fuming next to her.

"Must be working for you too," Ron said. "You look good."

"Thanks," Hermione said, glancing at Viktor.

"Nigel asked me to show Ron around," Oliver interjected. "His people are broadcasting tomorrow's match."

"You will be at the game?" Viktor asked.

"No," Ron said, without looking at him. "I'll be at the Ireland versus France game in Donegal."

Hermione averted her eyes, but it was difficult. It was a struggle not to stare back at him. She hated the pull toward him, she felt out of control. The longer they were apart, the worse it seemed to get, which made no sense to her. Time and distance should be loosening the bond not drawing it tighter. Perhaps Krastevich was wrong. Perhaps there was a way to break the bond without a long drawn out process. She was an Unspeakable for goodness sake. She just needed to research the problem, talk to the right people, possibly to the people who worked in the Love room, but they were such a touchy-feely, esoteric lot. They were strange among the strange, and it made her uncomfortable to be around them. Their pointed and yet somehow still ethereal questions reminded her of Luna at her worst.

"Donegal is nice this time of year," Oliver said, trying to draw Ron's attention back.

"I have never been," Viktor said. He turned to Hermione. "Perhaps we should take a weekend there."

She smiled weakly at him. "Sure. I've never been either. Uh, I think I'm going to go home and take a nap."

"I thought you were hungry," Viktor said.

"I think I'm more tired than hungry. The treatment can be exhausting."

"Yes," Ron said. "You should get some rest."

His agreement irritated her and clearly rubbed Viktor the wrong way. She squeezed Viktor's arm. "Come home for lunch later." She gave him the briefest quirk of an eyebrow, suggesting more than a meal. His face relaxed some. "I'm going to go."

"It was good seeing you," Ron said.

"Yes," Hermione said tightly and walked purposefully toward the exit.

Ron didn't even pretend not to watch her walk away. Viktor frowned at Oliver. "I am going to finish my workout."

"We'll get out of your hair," Oliver said, pulling Ron away. "The medical facility is this way. It's brand new, state of the art."

Ron knew the second Hermione vacated the building and Disapparated. The relief was palpable. He followed Oliver for the rest of the tour and actually paid attention and enjoyed it.

xXx

Viktor returned home just after one o'clock to find Hermione asleep on the sofa. She was clearly in the midst of a bad dream. Without thinking, he shook her gently by the shoulder, and called her name. She came off the sofa wild-eyed in a cold sweat, wand pointed directly at him.

He held up his hands. "Hermione!" 

She blinked at him.

"Is me," he said. "Relax. Put your wand down. You were having nightmare."

She ran a shaking hand down her face and lowered her wand. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I…" She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Is okay," Viktor said, lowering his hands. "I did not think. I should not have touched you."

She sat down holding a hand to her chest and tried to get her breathing under control. "No. It's not your fault. I just…I'm sorry."

He sat next to her and put his arm around her. She pulled away. "I'm all sweaty. I need a shower."

"Come," he said standing and holding out his hand. "I need shower too."

She smiled at him. "You're very forgiving." She knew she must have frightened him, because his accent was thicker and he was dropping articles.

He shrugged. "You are very good in shower."

She chuckled and let him lead to her the bathroom. She shook off the nightmare that used to be a persistent anxiety dream for her. Death Eaters surrounded her and she had to fight her way through them to get to Ron and Harry, but no matter how many she defeated there were always more and she could never find anyone. She hadn't had the dream in months, but something about seeing Ron earlier must have triggered it. She sighed and let the water wash over her and tried to focus on Viktor's wandering hands as he set about playfully bathing her. She smiled at him and joined the game. Sex with Viktor was generally good for pushing Ron, work, just about any stress really, right out of her mind, at least for a little while.

xXx

An hour later, they were sprawled out naked on his bed. "I need another shower," Hermione said and then yawned.

"You sound as though you need another nap." Viktor was on his back with his head resting on her thigh.

"That too." She yawned again.

He rolled over on his side and looked at her. "What do you dream when you wake up like that?"

She looked at him and blinked. "Um, it's during the war, I've been separated from Ron and Harry. I'm trying to find them, but I have to fight my way through Death Eaters and they just keep coming. I can't find the guys or anyone in the Order. There's no one to help me. I'm on my own."

"Ah," he said. He kissed her thigh. "Thank you for telling me."

She ran her fingers through his hair. "It wasn't a secret."

"Always before you have not wanted to talk about it."

She thought about that. "I think that's because you always asked me right after I woke up, and it's too hard to talk about then."

"So, if I want to know something you find difficult to talk about, I should ask after sex."

Hermione laughed. "Probably."

But Viktor's face turned serious. "Then I should tell you, I do not like the way that man looks at you."

Hermione sighed.

"It is disrespectful," he continued. "To both of us. He does not even pretend not to want you."

"I think he just does that to annoy me. You know how some people are. They don't want their exes but don't really want anyone else to have them either. That's all it is."

Viktor frowned at her. "And you are the opposite. You do nothing more than glance at him. Why is that?"

"I just try not to engage."

His frown deepened. "And yet you engaged enough to let him test the Quidditch cushion."

"That's not fair. I told you Thomas agreed to that, and he outranks me."

"So, you said, but you still dealt with him. I feel like you do not engage only because I am standing there. Is that not the case?"

She opened her mouth to disagree, but then said, "Maybe."

Viktor raised his eyebrows.

"What do you want me to tell you? I've known Ron since I was eleven. We have a long, complex history. We were friends, best friends, for years before we were lovers. All that history is still there despite how things ended. I don't hate him. I wish I did. It would make things a lot easier in some ways."

"Then why not speak to him like an old friend? I have many former lovers that I talk to without awkwardness."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes. Thank you for reminding me that you've slept with half of Europe."

He grinned at her. "Half is an exaggeration."

"Look, I understand what you're saying, but the situation with Ron is far more complicated than a casual conversation. You know how it ended."

"Not really. You never talk about it."

"You know enough to know it didn't end well. My point is that he and I have never discussed the end of our relationship, and that stands in the way of any attempt to normalize things between us, so it remains awkward to see him."

He quirked his lips. "Then have the discussion so you can both move on."

She shook her head. "He would have to initiate that."

"Why?"

"Because he hurt me and told me to leave. If he wants things not to be awkward, he should address that."

"Wait," Viktor said, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. "He told you to leave?"

Hermione felt her face get hot. "Yes."

He sat in stunned silence. "You did not leave of your own accord?"

"No." Admitting that was so humiliating.

"But he—"

Hermione held up a hand to stop him. "I know."

"Why?" Viktor asked. "Why would you stay?"

She shook her head sadly. "You know how sometimes your best qualities can also be your worst qualities?"

"Yes."

"I'm nothing if not loyal."

He pulled himself up next to her and she rolled toward him and he put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. They lay there quietly for a while before Viktor said, "Oliver and I were talking and he wants us to come to La Désirade with him and his new girlfriend."

Hermione rose up on one elbow and looked at him. "Seriously?"

"He says he's found…" Viktor made air quotes. "The one."

"Again?" 

Viktor smiled and shook his head. "He says this one is different. He says she is a strong witch, completed Beauxbatons, and is very fun. Up for anything, he says."

Hermione sighed. "Great. Wasn't the last one up for anything?"

Viktor nodded.

"Didn't she end up losing a leg to a dragon?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Viktor." She was already imagining a variety of nightmare scenarios.

"I know, but he is my best friend here, and he has been very good to me. Maybe this woman really is different."

"All right," Hermione relented. "We can go."

He smiled at her. "The good news is, we are staying in a magical community right on the beach in separate cottages."

"Separate cottages sounds good. Remember the one who kept setting things on fire with her wand?"

"To be fair, that was not really her wand. It was her grandmother's."

"Which she was using because she'd managed to destroy her own wand. Seriously, who does that?"

Viktor chuckled. "I do not know."

"She wasn't even in the war. What did she do to it?"

Viktor laughed and shook his head. "I do not know. He assures me this new woman is a very capable witch."

"Fine," Hermione said. "Let's hope that's true. Are you sure you want to go to a magical community though, isn't that just asking for attention?"

"No," Viktor said. "Oliver has been there many times. His parents own several cottages and rent them out. He says the French do not care about British players."

"Alright," Hermione said. "I guess we're going then."

"Good," he said and kissed her.


	10. Island Getaway

Three days later, Viktor and Hermione were putting groceries away in a small one-bedroom cottage right on the ocean. Hermione stood at the kitchen sink for a moment just taking in the view. "It's breathtaking."

Viktor put a couple of bottles of pumpkin juice in the refrigerator before going to stand next to her. "Yes. It is a little more rustic than a hotel, but the view is amazing."

Hermione nodded. "I like it. It feels very private."

"It is private. This beach is Muggle shielded and only for these three cottages and one of them is empty. Oliver and his girlfriend have the other one."

"What's her name again?"

"Alix."

"Right." She repeated the name to herself several times. "I don't know why I'm having so much trouble remembering that. I'm usually good with names."

"Perhaps because remembering the others has been a waste of time."

Hermione let out a soft snort. "Don't be like that. Maybe she really is the one."

"Maybe," Viktor said doubtfully. "I just feel like he sets himself up for disappointment."

"He does seem to fall rather hard and fast, but there's nothing to be done about it. When do they get here?"

"I thought they would be here before us."

There was a knock on the screen door. Oliver stuck his head in. "Is everyone descent?"

"Yes," Viktor said. "Come in."

Oliver stepped in with a beautiful red-head in tow behind him. "Viktor, Hermione, this is Alix."

Hands were shaken and greetings were exchanged. "Hey listen," Oliver said. "I just talked to a buddy of mine, and he's agreed to give us a boat ride around the islands if you're interested."

Viktor looked at Hermione. "Sure, sounds good," she said.

"Great," Oliver said. "Come over to our place in about twenty minutes, and we'll all walk to the dock together."

"All right," Viktor said.

"See you soon," Alix said, waving as they left.

"She seemed nice," Viktor said to Hermione.

"So far so good."

xXx

The boat turned out to be more of a small yacht. Oliver's friend Ken welcomed them aboard warmly, and a few minutes later, they set off. Either the boat was piloted by magic or someone else was running it, because Ken emerged on deck a few minutes later with a magnum of champagne in an ice bucket and a tray of flutes. Everyone took a glass. "It's so nice to have guests," he said. "To friends. Old and new."

They all clinked glasses.

"It's been too long since we got together," Oliver said.

"Well, if one of us wasn't always off playing Quidditch, we could see more of each other," Ken joked.

Oliver nodded. "Too true."

Ken turned to Viktor. "I suppose it's the same for you. Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch."

Viktor chuckled. "Yes. That is the truth of it."

Ken looked at Hermione and Alix. "And that's okay with you two?"

Alix smiled. "I think it's exciting. I love going to the games."

"And you," Ken asked Hermione. "Given your history, I can't imagine that Quidditch is all that exciting."

Hermione chuckled politely. She hated that her past proceeded her. People she just met often talked like they knew her, because of her role in the war and all the press coverage of her life since. "I enjoy the games when I can get away from work."

"What do you do?" Alix asked.

"Research and Development for the Ministry."

"Ah," Alix said. "Impressive. I heard about the Quidditch cushion you developed. That's pretty amazing."

Viktor proudly put his arm around Hermione. "It's saved a lot of players."

"Didn't you just do something with dragon's blood too?" Ken asked.

"A new use," Oliver said. "And a useful one too, not just ruddy oven cleaner. I mean, really, what kind of nutter would spend the money on dragon's blood just to clean an oven?"

Everyone laughed.

"To dragon's blood," Oliver said, and they all clinked glasses again. The boat sailed further out and the champagne continued to flow. After a while, a tray of snacks appeared and Hermione suspected there was house elf somewhere onboard. Her initial instinct was to ask, but the day was going well, and she knew it would upset Viktor if she got into elf rights with Ken, so she held her tongue.

After a tour of the islands around Guadeloupe, Ken dropped anchor far from shore. "Fancy a game of cards?"

Oliver and Viktor agreed. Alix shook her head. "I think I'll go sunbathe on the bow."

Hermione looked toward the front of the boat where two chaise lounges were already set up. "That sounds good to me too."

"Suit yourself," Ken said. "What do you think gents? Three way Exploding Snap?"

Alix was already walking toward the bow of the ship pulling her T-shirt over her head as she went. Hermione was surprised to see she wasn't wearing a bathing suit or even a bra, and when she pulled her shorts off, Alix wasn't wearing bikini bottoms either and was just in a thong instead. Hermione waited until she was actually by the lounges to remove her own top and shorts. Underneath she was wearing a bikini, but it looked positively demure next to Alix.

Alix glanced up at her from where she was already laying on one of the lounges. "Oh," she said. "You've glamoured over them."

Taken aback, Hermione said, "Excuse me?"

"The scars. You've covered them."

"Um. Yes."

"I'm surprised. I mean, they're part of what made you famous, right?"

Hermione was so appalled that her mouth dropped open.

"Not to be weird or anything. I'd wear them like a badge of honor if I had them." Alix rolled over on to her stomach.

Hermione stood for a moment torn between going back to play cards with the guys or just sitting in the sun reading next to this incredibly crass woman. Finally, she sat down on the lounge. If she went to play cards, she'd have to explain why. It was easier to ignore what just happened. She rummaged through the extendable pocket in her shorts and pulled out a book on the history of magic in the West Indies.

She'd just finished the introduction when Alix said. "I hope I didn't offend you."

"I'm fine," Hermione said, without looking up from her book.

"Okay. I just don't understand—"

"Have you read any interviews with me?"

"Yeah, several actually," Alix said.

"So, you've read my comments about the war?"

"No," Alix said, raising her eyebrows. "I haven't seen those."

"Because they don't exist," Hermione said.

"Oh. Right. I'll leave you to your book then."

"Thank you," Hermione said, relieved that the conversation was over.

xXx

The sun was just starting to set, when Viktor and Oliver came over. They were each carrying two glasses of beer. Viktor handed Hermione one. "We are going to head back. Ken has invited us to go deep sea fishing tomorrow morning."

"Oh?" Hermione said.

Viktor smiled at her. "You do not have to go."

"Good, because I don't want to," Hermione said.

Oliver laughed. "Tell us how you really feel. How about you, Alix? Are you game?"

"What time?"

"We're leaving at six," Ken said, walking up behind them.

"Count me out," Alix said. "I'm on vacation. No way I'm getting up that early. Us girls will hang out tomorrow and sunbathe. I'm assuming we can count on you lot to bring home dinner."

"Of course," Oliver said, puffing out his chest. "I'm a great fisherman."

"Yeah, right," Ken said, laughing. "We'll see about that."

Alix rummaged around in the bag next to her and pulled out a camera. "While we're all standing here, let me get a picture."

"Uh," Hermione said, backing up.

"Come on," Oliver said. Alix takes really good photos. "It'll be fun to have one of everyone."

Viktor looked at Hermione hopefully. She sighed. "All right."

"Great!" Alix said. Unlike the other wizard cameras Hermione had seen, Alix's camera looked like the Nikon her father used to have. Alix flicked her wand and the camera floated in front of them. They all stood together. Viktor draped his arm over Hermione's shoulder and Oliver did the same to Alix. Ken stood on the other side of Oliver. The camera clicked four times. Alix flicked her wand again and the camera flew into her hand. She cast another spell. "I'll print out five copies when I get home and send one to everyone," she said happily.

"Thank you," Viktor said. "We do not have any photos of us that weren't taken by paparazzi."

Oliver beamed with pride.

xXx

When Viktor and Hermione got back to their cottage, they showered and then started dinner. While Hermione put together a tossed salad, Viktor pan seared some fish.

"What did you think of Alix?" he asked.

"To be honest, I wasn't that impressed." Hermione put the salad into two bowls.

"Really? She seemed nice enough to me."

"That's because you were playing cards. I actually had to sit with her."

Viktor set the fish on the table. "What did she say?"

"She was disappointed that she couldn't see my scars."

Viktor stopped halfway to sitting down. "What?"

"You heard me." Hermione set the salad bowls on the table and took a seat. "She didn't understand why I'd glamour over them. Apparently, I should think of them like a badge of honor."

Viktor looked horrified as he sat down. "She actually said that?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Then later she said she hoped she hadn't offended me."

"Well, that is good. At least she recognized she was out of bounds."

"I don't know that Alix has a lot of boundaries."

"She is certainly not shy."

"No."

"I mean, to be on a topless beach is one thing…" Viktor raised his eyebrows.

"I know, but on someone's boat? She'd never even met Ken. And those weren't swimsuit bottoms she was wearing, you know."

"Oh, I know."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not exactly prudish, but come on."

"Oliver says she is very open because she is French."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said.

"I think so too. Ken said he has dated many French women and none of them were like that."

"Exactly. Can you see Fleur doing that?"

Viktor chuckled. "No. Fleur would not do that."

"No and she's part Veela."

Viktor shook his head. "Perhaps, Alix will get better."

"Hope springs eternal."

Viktor gave her a lascivious smile. "After dinner, would you like to go for a swim?"

"Just a swim?" she asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

"We will see what develops. It might be nice to have you in the ocean."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Have me?"

"Oh, yes." He took hold of the edge of her chair and pulled her toward him. "I think that might be very nice."

She shook her head chuckling. "I guess we'll find out."

He grinned and took another bite of fish.

xXx

The next morning, Viktor left early and Hermione slept in. It was gorgeous to wake up to the sound of the waves and see the ocean and vast stretch of white sand first thing in the morning. She cut up some local melon and had it over yogurt for breakfast with coffee. She happily put on one of the new bikinis Viktor had purchased for her and went out to sit in the sun in one of the lounge chairs on the sand in front of their cottage. The sun, the sand, the book, were all perfect.

After an hour, she went back in for another cup of coffee. When she came back to her lounge chair, she could see that Alix was taking a swim in the ocean. Sometime later, Alix came out of the water stark naked.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Alix wrapped herself in a beach towel and came to stand at the foot of Hermione's chair. "Mind if I join you? The weather is gorgeous."

Barely glancing up from her book, Hermione said, "Suit yourself."

Alix took the towel she was wearing and stretched it on the chair next to Hermione. "When do you think the boys will be back?"

"Sometime this afternoon, I should think."

"So, what are your plans for the day?"

Hermione glanced at her. "You're looking at them." She held up the book.

"You're a big reader then?"

"Yes," Hermione said, turning the page.

"What's the book about?"

"It's a history of magic in the West Indies."

"Oh, I'm not much of a history buff. I mostly read fiction in my downtime, and I have a real weakness for the tabloids. I love _Witch Weekly._ "

Alarm bells went off in Hermione's head and she cut her eyes at Alix.

"Not that I believe all the stuff they say," Alix quickly amended. "It's just trashy fun. You know."

Hermione frowned. "It's less fun when it's written about you."

"Of course. I'm sure that gets tiresome."

"It really does," Hermione said, pointedly looking back at her book.

"Although, I'm sure notoriety has its perks too."

"Not enough to offset the rubbish," Hermione said without looking up.

"I mean, I've never met Harry Potter or your ex, Ron Weasley, but you seem really great, and you and Viktor seem good together."

Hermione glanced at her. "Thanks."

"I really respect everything you've done."

"Thanks."

"And, you know, Oliver and Viktor are very close…"

Hermione glanced at her again.

"You and I could be close too," Alix said, resting a hand on Hermione's thigh. "We could all be close." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione gritted her teeth. "You need to remove your hand, because if I do it, it might not be attached to your body when I'm done."

Alix's eyes widened as she drew back her hand. "No offense. I just thought since—"

"I don't care what you thought." Hermione stood. "I don't know you. I don't want to know you. And you sure as hell don't know me." She picked up her book and went back into the cottage, her fury palpably crackling around her as she went. Not for the first time, she wanted to kill Ron for giving that interview to Rita Skeeter. Hermione hated that bitch far more than she hated Alix at the moment. She knew Ron hadn't told Rita about the Poacher's curse that sent the three of them into a night all of them would like to forget, but what he had said, had allowed Rita to imply that the three of them had wild nights on the run. Rita had just skirted the edge of libel, but even if she'd gone all the way there, because of the Poacher's curse, they could never have taken Rita to court without the whole thing becoming public. So, Hermione, and presumably Ron and Harry, had to live with the titillating gossip, the looks, the hushed comments when people thought she couldn't hear. Worse, they had to deal with offers from people like Alix who thought they knew them, and who made indecent propositions as a result. Hermione shook her head, furious that she now had to be around that woman for five more days. She wondered if Oliver knew about Alix's proclivities. She hoped not, because if he did and was looking for the same thing, that was going to make for a very awkward conversation with Viktor.

Hours later, she was still angry when Viktor showed up with a large fish wrapped in butcher paper.

"As it turns out," he said merrily, "I am also brilliant at fishing."

Hermione couldn't help chuckling. "If only you were equally brilliant at humility."

He laughed and kissed her. "No one is perfect." He set the fish on the counter and started looking for a fillet knife.

"So, the fishing went well then?"

He set the knife on the counter and began unwrapping a big snapper that had already been gutted. "Yes, we threw most of what we caught back, but I thought we could eat this snapper for dinner. Oliver took home a shad that I caught."

"He didn't catch any fish of his own?"

"He did, but nothing to really eat." Viktor ran the knife along the spine of the fish to start filleting it.

Hermione looked at him. He was sunburned. "Didn't you cast a charm? You're awfully red."

Viktor looked down at his skin. "I did not recast midday. The fishing was so good, I forgot."

"I'll get the sun balm potion." She rummaged around in her bag in the bedroom and came out with it a few minutes later. "I'll put this on you when you're done with that."

"Thank you. I will shower first though. I am very smelly."

She smiled.

"You could join me and make sure I am thoroughly clean." He winked at her.

"I could."

"Good." He continued filleting the fish, which took up most of the small counter. "How was your day?"

"Mostly good. I slept late and got a lot of reading done."

He looked up. "Just mostly?"

"I officially don't like Alix."

"Oh? What did she do this time?"

"Well, she likes to start the day with a naked swim, and then she propositioned me or us rather."

Viktor's eyes widened. "Please, you are joking."

"If only I were."

"Why would she do this? She is here with Oliver. He is so happy."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't think Alix is who he thinks she is."

Viktor set down the knife. "Who do you think she is?"

"I think she's less interested in Oliver specifically and just likes to collect Quidditch players, or maybe just famous people in general, hence her interest in me."

Viktor closed his eyes and shook his head. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," Hermione said grimly.

He sighed. "What do we do?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess."

"Nothing?" His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "You do not think we should tell him?"

"I think it's not a good idea to get in the middle of a couple. I'm sure he'll figure it out soon enough."

Viktor frowned. "We are talking about Oliver."

She sighed. "I see your point. But still…"

Viktor picked up the knife and continued cutting up the fish. "I will finish this, and then we can shower and have dinner. Perhaps an answer will come to us."

Hermione nodded. "Maybe." She didn't think a good answer was likely to surface. Relationships were tricky. If Oliver really loved Alix, he wasn't going to want to hear anything negative about her, but that wasn't Hermione's main concern. Her biggest fear was that Oliver wanted the same thing Alix did and had sent her to feel out the situation. "Viktor, I know you and Oliver are close, but…you've never mentioned what happened in Amsterdam to him, have you?"

Viktor looked up from the fish. "No! I have never told anyone that. Have you?"

"Of course not." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't." She let out a heavy sigh. "So, this is down to me then."

"It is not your fault. It is Ron's. He gave the interview. Not you."

"I know, but Alix thinks what she thinks because of gossip about me in that stupid rag." She frowned. "That's just great. You know I've gotten owls from people proposing much the same thing."

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "I know. I am sorry. I know that bothers you."

"It's not like I have anything against polyamory as such. It just isn't for me, and even if it was, I can't imagine I'd be up for it with just any passing stranger. I don't know how people do that."

He shrugged. "Because sometimes people just want to get laid."

"But to be so vulnerable with a stranger or worse a group of strangers." She shook her head. "I don't understand that."

"It could be argued you are move vulnerable with a loved one."

She frowned at him. "I'm not talking about that kind of vulnerability."

He shrugged again. "Sex with a stranger can be very exciting."

She snorted. "I suppose you would know."

"Yes." He looked at her pointedly. "And so would you."

She scowled at him. "Not entirely by choice."

"But aspects of that night were still exciting, no?" He raised his eyebrows.

She cleared her throat. "What are you trying to say? You want to take Alix up on her offer?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. I am just saying sex is complicated. There are many kinds, and they can all be enjoyable."

"Well, I'm sorry if I don't see it with the same openness you do, but there are things that have happened to me that I would undo if I could, even if they might have been exciting in the moment."

He nodded. "I know." He set the fillets on a plate and rolled the remains up in the paper, drew his wand, and went outside. Hermione leaned against the counter and closed her eyes as she rubbed her temples. The whole day was giving her headache. A moment later, she felt Viktor's hands on her waist.

He kissed her forehead. "Come shower. You need to relax."

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Do not worry. I do not have anyone else hidden in the bathroom."

She chuckled. "You're horrible. You know that?"

He smiled and nuzzled her neck, scraping the sensitive skin with late-day stubble. "Yes."

She laughed and followed him.

xXx

Later that night, they were sitting on the porch eating sautéed snapper with pasta and more of the melon that Hermione had cut up that morning. They were speaking in Bulgarian in case Oliver and Alix could hear them through the open windows of their cottage. They were quietly debating the merits of telling Oliver what Alix had said or keeping it to themselves when they heard the sound of breaking glass followed by a shouted, "What?" and then a deafening silence.

They both looked at Oliver and Alix's cottage and then at each other. "What was that?" Viktor asked.

Hermione shrugged, but she could see the feint shimmer of a charm around the cottage. "One of them cast a silencing charm though."

"How do you know?"

"I can see it."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Seriously?"

She felt her face get hot. "Yes."

He stared at her open-mouthed. "You can see magic? All the time? I thought that was just a side effect of the drugs?"

She cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly in her chair. "That was the first time I saw it clearly, but since I've been working at the Ministry…well…I can see it most of the time now."

"All magic?" Viktor said, shocked.

"No. Just most. If a spell is very subtle and complex or if the caster specifically casts masking around it, then I would probably miss it."

"That is—"

A door slammed open and Oliver came storming over from his cottage. "Hermione, I need a Portkey to London. Can you make one?"

"Of course," she said, standing. "Let me see what we have that I can use."

"You are leaving?" Viktor asked.

"No," Oliver said grimly. "Alix is."

Hermione came back outside with an empty yogurt container. She drew her wand. "What time do you want it set for?"

"Tonight, as soon as possible. She's packing now."

"Fifteen minutes then?"

"Perfect," Oliver said.

Hermione stepped back inside to cast the complex spell. Oliver took a seat at the table. Viktor gave him a sympathetic look.

"She told me what she said to Hermione this afternoon," Oliver said.

"She did?" Viktor was surprised at Alix's candor.

"Oh yeah, she told me as a way to illustrate how stuck up she thinks Hermione is." Oliver shook his head incredulously.

"Wait," Viktor said, confused. "What?"

"Yeah, I got home and she starts complaining about Hermione. Can you believe that?"

Viktor wiped a hand down his face.

"I said to her, what the hell were you thinking, lass? And she says, what do you mean? Like it's perfectly normal to go about suggesting an orgy. I swear, Viktor, she has never said anything like that to me before. It was completely out of the blue. I mean, I knew she was a little wild, but for fuck's sake, that's a bridge too far."

Viktor grimaced. "A bit far, yes."

"I mean, what the hell? Although, she kept trying to get me to invite teammates over for dinner, so maybe she planned to spring it on me. I don't know." He shook his head sadly. "How could I have been so wrong about her?"

Hermione came back out on to the porch and handed him the yogurt cup. "It's set for fifteen minutes from now."

"Thank you," Oliver said, standing. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea she'd come on to you like that."

Hermione shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It's not your fault."

"Come back over, after she leaves," Viktor said. "You should not be alone."

Oliver smiled sadly. "Thanks." He walked off looking dejected.

Hermione went inside and returned with a bottle of wine and three glasses. She lit a cigarette and sat back down.

Viktor looked at her. "Thank you for making the Portkey."

She shrugged. "He's a friend. Not to mention, the sooner she's out of here, the better for all concerned."

"Agreed."

Oliver walked back over with his head down. Viktor poured him a glass of wine. "Sit down."

"Thanks." Oliver took a long drink of wine and set down the glass. "Thank you both. You're good friends."

"You are a good friend too," Viktor said. "This was not your fault."

Oliver shook his head. "I have terrible taste in women. I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't seem to pick a good one."

"That's not true. You dated Alicia Spinnet," Hermione said. "I quite liked her."

Oliver nodded. "I should've married that girl, but no, I went off to play professional Quidditch and I wanted to be free to play the field. Now Alicia's married to some other bloke and has a beautiful little girl, and what do I have? A trashy woman who comes on to my friends."

"Well…" Viktor said.

Hermione took a long drag on her cigarette rather than comment.

Oliver shook his head and poured himself more wine. "So, Ken wants to show us a great swimming spot. He says it's a lagoon with calm water, because it's protected by a reef and it's Muggle shielded, so only our sort ever go there, but mostly it's empty."

"That sounds nice," Hermione said.

"Yes," Viktor said. "I like Ken. He seems like a good bloke."

Hermione smiled to hear him say 'bloke' it didn't sound natural coming out of Viktor's mouth.

"He is," Oliver said. "My love life might be a mess, but I have excellent friends."

"To friends," Viktor said, holding up his wine. They all clinked glasses.


	11. La Désirade

The next morning, after taking hangover potion and a long shower, Hermione felt ready to face the day. Viktor was already in the kitchen. He handed her a cup of coffee and she kissed his bare chest by way of thanks. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine now that I have this." She sipped the coffee and made an appreciative moan.

"I am making the rest of the fish with scrambled eggs and the last of the melon for breakfast."

"That sounds great." She went outside to smoke. She didn't like the habit, but hadn't managed to quit. She blew out a long stream of smoke and watched the waves roll over the sand. Viktor brought out two plates. A little while later, Oliver came out on to the porch of his cottage. He was only wearing a pair of swim trunks and yawned broadly and scratched his belly. Viktor shook his head and Hermione chuckled.

"Come and eat," Viktor called to him and went back inside for another plate.

Oliver came over, clearly happy not to have to eat alone. They chatted amicably and then left to join Ken on his yacht.

xXx

The lagoon was a bright blue and calm enough to seem like they were swimming in a wave pool rather than the ocean. Hermione watched Viktor, Oliver, and Ken dive off the side of the boat, but she decided she'd rather take the ladder down to the water. She swam with the men for a little while, but then returned to the deck to sunbathe and read. At lunchtime, the men rejoined her and they all sat around a table on deck as corned beef sandwiches and cold glasses of beer appeared in front of them. Hermione was thinking about how much Ron hated corned beef, when another boat entered the lagoon, and dropped anchor on the other side. She felt a slight stirring, as if Ron were near, but put that down to her musings.

"How long have you two been friends," Viktor asked Ken and Oliver. Hermione returned her attention to the conversation.

"Since school," Oliver said. He was a couple of years ahead of me, but we were both on the Quidditch team.

"Ah," Viktor said. "Which position did you play?"

"Beater," Ken said. "How about you two? How long have you been together?"

"This time?" Viktor said. "About a year and a half."

"You were together before?" Ken asked.

"We dated for a while in school," Hermione said. "Then we ran into each other Christmas Eve before last and, well, here we are."

Ken nodded. "That's great."

"It is," Oliver said. "I'm starting to think I should start hanging out in Muggle markets looking for Miss Right to walk through the door."

"Muggle markets?" Ken looked confused.

"I was living in Muggle London," Hermione said. "I'd dropped by a Waitrose to pick up some dinner, and there he was." She smiled at Viktor.

"I got a bad Portkey," he explained. "I was supposed to go to Diagon Alley, but it dropped me in Muggle London instead. I was lucky to run into her. For many reasons." He winked at her.

"That's a great story," Ken said. "I mean, what are the odds? Then again, magic being what it is, maybe it was just fated."

"Maybe," Viktor said. "Either way, it turned out good for me."

"Me too," Hermione agreed.

xXx

After lunch, everyone sat around drinking beer and dozing under an awning, but in the afternoon the men wanted to return to the water. Viktor tried to convince Hermione to join them. "Come on," he insisted.

"I'd rather read."

"You can do that at home. We are here in the sun and the water is perfect."

"It's not like you're going to burn," Oliver said as he cast another sunblock charm on his pale Scottish skin. "How do you manage to get so dark. All I do is burn, unless I cast the charm every two hours."

"My father's mother was Kenyan," Hermione said.

"Really?" Viktor said. "I guess that explains the hair too."

"Some of it. My mother had curly hair too, although not as curly as mine."

"What family?" Ken asked. "My parents have friends in Kenya."

"Oh," Hermione said. "She wasn't a witch. At least, I don't think she was. She died before I was born."

"Oh, you're a half-blood then?" Ken asked.

Hermione frowned. "Muggleborn, actually."

"Really?" Ken said, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes," Hermione said, feeling uncomfortable.

"Not that it matters," Oliver said.

"No, of course not," Ken said. "Come on, let's swim."

"Maybe later," Hermione said.

Viktor gave her a questioning look, but she waved him off.

xXx

Ron had no idea why he had agreed to this trip. He didn't do well in the sun and had to do another sunblock charm every couple of hours. Ginny was the same, and yet she was cavorting around in a bikini like the West Indies were her natural environment. He noticed she'd also glamour charmed herself a slight tan. He considered doing the same, but decided it didn't matter, since he wasn't trying to impress anyone out here. Disgruntled, he sat under an awning and read while Harry and Ginny, Luna and her new boyfriend, Rolf, and Neville, and Seamus played in the water.

Ginny had insisted he was working too much and needed a vacation, but he liked working. Vacations just meant sitting around stewing about what a mess his personal life was. Work, on the other hand, was going great. Work was something he did right. His personal life was not. The only bright spot recently was that he got to see Michelle, the healer-in-training, every week when he went to have the scar on his jaw treated. Other than those few minutes, he was on his own, aside from the hours he spent in bed with his fuck buddy at the Leaky Cauldron. He liked Margaret, but she'd made it clear that what they had was confined to her bedroom in the wee hours of the morning and would never be anything more. He sighed and closed the book he'd been staring at. He'd been agitated all day. He kept getting whiffs of Hermione, slight sensations that she was near, but he hadn't seen her, and he couldn't focus the feelings the way he could if they were in the same building, so he assumed it was just wishful thinking on his part.

When they'd been on the run during the war, he and Hermione would lay in bed at night and play a game. They would describe where they would rather be right at that moment. Hermione often chose a tropical location. She loved the sun and the ocean. Of course, she tanned instead of burned, so of course she liked the blistering heat. He tossed the book to the deck and stood and stretched. The others were tossing a ball back and forth in the waves and chatting happily off the port bow. He'd pulled his shirt off to join them, when he heard her scream. Hermione. He'd know that scream anywhere. It was the soundtrack of his nightmares. His wand was in his hand of its own accord, and he raced to the starboard side of the boat. Harry appeared next to him a moment later, his wand also drawn, a moment after that, Ginny was there.

Below, he could see Hermione come up out of the waves, spitting water, magically she pushed a wall of water over Viktor, who was laughing behind her. He dove and came up under her, pulling her back beneath the waves. In the split second before she went under, she saw Ron, and their eyes met. She looked horrified for that moment. He knew she knew that they'd heard her scream and that she'd frightened them. Ron gripped his wand tighter and felt Ginny's hand on his arm.

"It's okay," she said. "She's fine. They're only playing."

Viktor and Hermione reappeared a moment later. He had her in his arms and kissed her, but she pulled away quickly, said something to him, and swam for the ladder on the boat. He followed.

"Come on," Ginny said.

He felt Harry tug his other arm. "Ron."

Ron was breathing hard like he'd been running. He turned and walked back to the other side of the boat. He dove into the water and went deep, desperate to have a moment alone, and the blue green water gave him that for as long as he could hold his breath.

xXx

Hermione was furious with Viktor. They'd been drinking beer all day, and it had made him uncharacteristically silly. Worse, she'd had the sensation that Ron was near off and on all day. She'd assumed it was her imagination, since generally, when he was close by, she knew exactly where he was, but that was when they were in the same building. Apparently, the island was small enough that the magic of the bond could be sensed but wasn't as concentrated as it was indoors, so she'd just had little stirrings instead of focused awareness.

"Come on," Viktor said behind her as she stormed across the deck. "That was funny."

"Not really." She picked up a towel and squeezed her long braid with it.

Viktor frowned. "Loosen up. We are on vacation."

That was the wrong thing to say. At the end of their relationship, Ron used to tell her to 'loosen up' all the time. The phrase set her teeth on edge, and she glared at Viktor. "I told you I didn't feel like swimming this afternoon. That's not me being uptight. It's me knowing what I want. You've just had too much to drink, and it's making you a git."

"Hey," he said, clearly wounded. "I am not drunk. I was just teasing. I thought you would think it was funny."

"Well, I didn't." She was embarrassed to find herself blinking back tears.

He held up his hands. "I am sorry."

She shook her head.

"I am. Really. I did not mean to upset you. I was just playing." He stepped toward her tentatively, and she let him wrap her in a hug.

Taking her anxiety out on him wasn't fair. She knew he'd only been playing. "It's okay. Just please don't do that. If I say, no. I mean, no. All right?"

He nodded, looking deeply chagrined. "I am sorry," he whispered in her ear. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he held her to him. He was warm and smelled of salt water and sunshine, but all she could think about was the look of horror on Ron's face.

xXx

In an unspoken agreement, neither Harry, Ginny, nor Ron mentioned to the others that they had seen Hermione.

"Is everything okay?" Luna asked when Harry and Ginny returned to the water.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Just some people goofing off," Ginny said.

"Hey, do you lot want to go dancing tonight?" Seamus asked. "I saw a place when I went into town earlier. There's a pub near us with a band tonight."

"Dancing sounds good," Ginny said.

"Right?" Seamus said. "I asked a guy setting up chairs on the patio, and he said it was a good band that covers magical and Muggle music."

"That sounds like it could be fun," Neville said.

"I'm game," Ginny said.

"Me too," Harry agreed.

Ron didn't feel like going dancing, but he felt like spending the evening alone would be worse. He grumbled an agreement.

xXx

When Viktor and Hermione returned to their cottage late that afternoon. Hermione took a shower, and Viktor went for a run. As he ran through the main village, a sign for a dance at a local bar caught his eye and he knew how he would make up his earlier gaff to Hermione. If there was one thing that always set them right, it was dancing.

He told her about what he'd seen when he arrived back at the cottage a couple of hours later. Hermione was stretched out on a lounge chair on the porch reading and drinking a glass of beer. She looked up at his hopeful expression. He was clearly trying to make up for what happened earlier. "Sure," she said. She closed the book in her lap. She hadn't been able to concentrate on it anyway. She knew what she should do but dreaded it. Still, she'd called Ron an unrepentant coward. It wouldn't do for her to behave the same way.

"Should I invite Oliver and Ken?" Viktor asked. "Or do you want it just to be us?"

"Invite them. Oliver likes to dance, and he shouldn't stay in alone."

Viktor smiled at her. "Good. I am going to take a shower."

Hermione stood. "I think I'll take a walk while you do that. I'll be back in a little while."

"Okay." He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss.

xXx

Hermione pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top. She wasn't exactly sure where Ron was staying, but if she concentrated, she was certain she could find him. Stepping out of the cottage, she closed her eyes and reached out with her magic. In a minute, she picked up the sensation of him and simply followed it down the beach. The sensation grew stronger as she walked. Eventually, she stood in front of a yellow cottage, that looked almost exactly like the light green one where she and Viktor were staying. She knew Ron was in there.

She blew out a calming breath, stepped onto the porch and knocked.

Neville opened the door. "Hermione?"

"Hi, Neville." She tried to smile casually, as if she dropped in on her friends all the time. "Are Harry and Ron around?"

"Yeah," Neville said, stepping back. "Come in."

As she went into the living room, Seamus and another man she didn't know, stood. A Quidditch match was starting on the wireless. Harry came out of the kitchen holding a big bowl of crisps.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hi," Hermione said awkwardly.

In the back of the cottage a toilet flush.

"Um, do you know Rolf?" Neville asked.

"I don't think so," Hermione said.

"Rolf Scamander, this is Hermione Granger," Neville said. Rolf was tall, thin, and sandy-haired.

Hermione shook his hand. "Are you related to—?"

He smiled and nodded. "That's my granddad."

"Rolf is dating Luna now," Seamus added.

"Oh, fantastic," Hermione said. "Luna's great. Is she around?"

"She and Ginny went shopping," Harry said.

Ron appeared in the entrance to the hall that lead back to the bedrooms. "Hermione?" he said. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Hello, Ron. I'm fine. I just need a word with you and Harry. It won't take but a minute."

"Sure." Harry handed the bowl of crisps to Neville.

"Seamus, Neville, it was good seeing you. And nice meeting you Rolf."

"You too," Rolf said.

"Don't be a stranger," Neville said. Hermione smiled and went back outside.

Harry and Ron glanced at each other before following her onto the beach.

When they were down by the water, out of earshot of the cottage, Hermione turned to them. "I'm so sorry about this morning. I didn't mean to scream. I know that must have been alarming."

As Harry was saying, "That's all right," Ron said, "It was."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry. Viktor was in a playful mood, and I didn't know you were on the island."

Ron raised an eyebrow at her as if to question her veracity on that. She glanced away from him. "You didn't seem in such a playful mood this morning," Ron said pointedly.

"Yes, well, Viktor and I have already sorted that. Anyway, I didn't want you to think that I didn't notice, or didn't care. I would never intentionally—"

"We know that," Harry said.

"Yeah," Ron said. "No one thinks you meant to scare the pants off us."

Hermione bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"No harm done," Harry said.

She blew out a slow breath. "Right. Well, thank you for understanding. I should be getting back."

"So soon?" Harry said. "Stay for a bit. Ginny and Luna should be back any minute. Ginny didn't want to miss the Quidditch match."

"I would, but we're going out, and I need to get ready."

"Oh, of course," Harry said. Ron just stared at her.

"All right then," Hermione said. "Have a nice evening."

Harry smiled at her. "You too." Ron said nothing. He just continued staring.

Rather than walk back to the cottage by way of the beach, Hermione went past the cottages up to the main road to escape Ron's gaze. She stopped at a shop and picked up a hat for Viktor. She told herself it wasn't a guilt gift. He was going fishing again tomorrow, and she didn't want him to burn if he forgot the midday charm again. While she did feel guilty about not mentioning exactly where she was walking, and who she was going to talk to, she really did think he needed a hat. She told herself a guilt gift would be more expensive, even though she'd bought the nicest, most expensive Panama hat the store sold. It still wasn't expensive enough to really be a guilt gift. She was just being thoughtful.

xXx

Viktor was lying in the lounge chair on the porch when she arrived back at their cottage. She handed him the hat box. "I got you something for tomorrow."

He smiled and opened the gift, delighted when he saw the hat. "This is a very nice hat. What is the occasion?"

"No occasion. I just thought it might be good if you had a hat tomorrow in case you forget the charm again."

"I love it." He set the hat on his head and tilted it over his eyes. He slipped an arm around her waist. "Join me for a nap before we go. This is a very comfortable chair." He scooted over to make room for her. He had it adjusted all the way back so it was almost flat.

"Okay. But just a nap. Don't go getting all Alix on me."

Viktor laughed. "You are safe with me."

Hermione slipped out of her sandals and joined him on the chair, resting her head on his chest. "I know," she said softly.

xXx

Ron knew, when he started down the beach, that he was going to find Hermione's cottage. He was fairly certain Harry knew that too, but he had the decency not to call Ron out on it. He just wanted to see where she was staying. There was no good reason why. He didn't plan to drop in or anything. He'd been surprised earlier when she came by to apologize for scaring them. The gesture was appreciated but unnecessary. After all, he knew she didn't mean it. Still, it was a bold move, and he had to respect that. As the shore line turned around the lower bend of the island, a small green cottage came into view. He knew it was where she was staying, even before he saw her cuddled up with Viktor in a lounge chair, napping in the shade of the porch. His stomach dropped to see her sleeping with him. Viktor lay on his back, a hat tipped over his eyes. Hermione was on her good side next to him, her head on his shoulder, her arm around his waist, one leg casually draped over his. They were both in shorts and tank tops, but it was still so intimate. Hermione had the bottom of Viktor's shirt gripped in one hand, and the sight of that rattled Ron. As a kid, she would sometimes fall asleep studying in the common room at night, and he would find her on a sofa with the bottom of her jumper clenched in her fist. Later, when they slept together, if he had on a shirt, she would hold on to it as she slept, so he knew she wasn't just dozing now. She was deeply asleep. Even though he was certain there were wards around the cottage, just as there were around the one he and Harry and Ginny were staying in, Viktor and Hermione looked so relaxed and vulnerable lying there. He was shocked that she could sleep in the open like that. Ron was fairly certain he could never do that. She must trust Viktor implicitly. The realization left him gutted. She should be napping with him, not Viktor. He knew deep in his bones that none of this was right. He just didn't know how to fix it. Viktor shifted slightly in his sleep, and Ron backed away, turning sadly to return to his own cottage.

xXx

That night, Oliver came over to Viktor and Hermione's cottage and the three of them went to listen to a local band at the bar Viktor had seen on his run. The band was percussion heavy but had a lead singer whose voice was strong enough to handle it. Their sound was infectious. Viktor pulled Hermione on to the dance floor immediately while Oliver went to get drinks. Hermione was wearing a white sundress with black polka dots and was happy the skirt was somewhat fitted, or it would be flying up around her waist every time Viktor twirled her, which was a lot given the speed of the music.

When the song ended, they joined Oliver at a tall table near the bar and gratefully drank down the beer he'd procured for them.

"Ken said he'd meet us after he drops off his clients," Oliver said loudly, trying to be heard over the music.

"Clients?" Viktor said.

"Yeah, he takes people on tours to supplement his income," Oliver said.

"Where does the rest of his money come from?" Hermione asked.

"Family," Oliver said.

"Must be nice," Viktor said.

"It is," Oliver said, grinning.

"Bah," Viktor said, good-naturedly, over the rim of his beer.

Hermione couldn't say much given that she'd inherited her parents' house and a significant amount of money when they'd died. Oliver finished his beer first and grabbed Hermione's hand. "I'm stealing your woman," he said to Viktor.

Viktor laughed. "I am not bothered."

Hermione smiled at his phrasing and laughed as Oliver pulled her out on to the dance floor. He wasn't a great dancer, but what he lacked in skill, he made up for in gusto. It didn't bother him at all to do a Scottish jig to West Indian steel drum rhythms. They were both laughing when Viktor joined them a few minutes later. The next half hour was some of the most fun Hermione had had in ages. Eventually though, she had to beg off to use the loo and made her way back past the bar through an ever-growing crowd.

xXx

Seamus had been right about the band. The five of them could hear the infectious beat as they approached the bar. Seamus and Neville went in, but Ron stopped short, causing Harry, who was bringing up the rear of the group with Ginny, to bump into him.

"For goodness sake, Ron," Ginny groused.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, I just don't feel like dancing right now." He looked across the street and saw an ice cream parlor that was still open. "I fancy an ice cream. I'll catch you up in a bit." He crossed the road quickly, not giving the others a chance to argue. He knew Hermione was in the bar. He'd felt her presence as soon as they approached, and he didn't think he could handle another encounter so soon.

xXx

Harry sighed and watched Ron bolt. He turned to Ginny. "Go in with Seamus and Neville. I'll be there in a minute."

She gave him a sympathetic smile and kissed his cheek. "Don't be long."

"I won't."

Ron was already in line when Harry walked into the shop. He got in line behind him. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked.

"Ice cream sounded good."

Ron blew out a frustrated sigh. "Right."

"You saw Hermione?"

Ron closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said.

"I'm guessing that means you're going back to the cottage."

Ron nodded. "I've taken so much from her. She can have this. I'm not big on dancing anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean? What have you taken from her?"

Ron shrugged. "Lots of stuff. Class notes and the like."

That made no sense. Harry scowled at him. "What?"

"It doesn't matter. Let her have a good time."

"And the rest of us?"

"Don't need me to have a good time. Go back to Ginny. I'm going to eat a huge bowl of chocolate ice cream with hot fudge and whipped cream, and then go home. I'm tired. I'll probably turn in early."

Harry rubbed a hand down the back of his head and looked unsure.

"Go on then. I'm fine."

Harry sighed. "I doubt we'll be out late."

"Take as long as you like. I'll likely be asleep when you get back anyway."

"All right then," Harry said reluctantly. "I'll see you back at the cottage."

Ron nodded. "Goodnight."

Harry trudged back to the bar, unhappy that Ron was foregoing an evening out just because Hermione was in the same place. He and Ginny had had a difficult enough time talking Ron into taking a vacation and he wasn't even enjoying it. He sighed. Ginny wasn't going to be happy.

xXx

On her way back from the loo, Hermione saw Neville and Seamus come into the bar followed a moment later by Ginny. She smiled to see them again, but they didn't see her, so she didn't go over to talk to them, since she figured Ron and Harry wouldn't be far behind. She wove her way through the growing crowd trying to decide how to handle the sudden Gryffindor reunion. She had no desire for Viktor to know she'd gone to talk to them earlier in the afternoon, but if they all stood around talking, it might come up. She considered feigning an upset stomach and leaving.

Distracted, she bumped into another woman as she approached the table where Viktor and Oliver were sitting.

"Sorry," Hermione said. When the woman turned around it was Pansy Parkinson.

"You!" Pansy exclaimed with a look of disgust. "Filthy Mudblood," she muttered.

The band took an ill-timed break, and in the relative quiet, Viktor heard her. "What did you say?" He got to his feet.

"You heard me," Pansy slurred.

"Don't," Hermione said, holding up a palm to Viktor. "She's just drunk."

Marcus Flint appeared then, holding two glasses of beer. "Pansy?" he said hesitantly.

"Do you see this bitch?" Pansy said to Marcus.

Viktor bristled and Oliver came around to their side of the table. "I think you better get your lass in hand, Marcus, before she does something we'll all regret."

"Shut it, you fucking blood traitor," Pansy shouted at him.

Harry stepped out of the crowd. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Marcus said nervously, seemingly unsure what to do with the beers he was holding. Ginny stood next to Harry. Neville and Seamus were behind them.

Pansy looked at Viktor and sneered. "Why are you even with her? You know she killed Robbins."

Viktor glanced at Hermione who blanched.

"Oh, you didn't know," Pansy said. "Typical. Fucking blood traitors, all of you." She gave pointed looks to Viktor, Oliver, Ginny, and Neville.

"That's enough," Harry said. A circle had formed around them. People were murmuring anxiously. Harry wished the band would start playing again. Suddenly Ron Apparated into the circle, his sheer size dwarfing the two women and causing several people to step back. The tension in the room increased dramatically.

Startled, Marcus dropped his beers.

"Are you all right?" Ron quietly asked Hermione, as if they were the only two people in the room.

"I'm fine," Hermione said tightly.

Ron turned to Pansy. "You should go."

"I think you should all go," said the bartender, stepping into the circle with his wand drawn. He was also a big man and looked Ron in the eye. "We don't want any trouble here." His eyes widened when he saw Harry. "We really don't want any trouble."

"Fine," Harry said. He leveled his gaze at Marcus. "You first."

Marcus grabbed Pansy's arm.

"That Mudblood slag and her blood traitor boyfriend should leave first," she shouted. "She ran into me!"

"Come on," Marcus said with some urgency. He pulled her toward an empty fireplace and tossed in a handful of Floo powder before dragging her, still shouting expletives, into the green flame.

Ginny took Harry's hand. "Let's go," she urged. Harry didn't hesitate. He pulled his wand, and they Disapparated from the spot.

Hermione reached to do the same with Viktor, but he was already walking toward the exit. Confused, she looked at Oliver who shrugged sympathetically. "Go," he said. "I'll wait outside until Ken shows up."

She glanced back at Ron, but he was gone as were Seamus and Neville. She drew her wand and Disapparated back to the cottage.

Viktor must have left the bar and then changed his mind about walking and Disapparated, because she could see him pacing inside when she appeared in front of the cottage. She sighed and started walking a perimeter around the cottage casting more complex protection charms to reinforce the standard ones she'd already placed around their cottage. She wouldn't put it past Pansy to try something stupid, and there was no way she'd leave herself vulnerable to that.

xXx

Inside, Viktor could see Hermione casting additional wards around the cottage. She was nothing if not cautious. He sighed and thought again about Pansy's words. He couldn't imagine Hermione had really killed Patrick Robbins. He shook his head. Surely, he would know if she had. He was still pacing a few minutes later when she came in through the front door.

"Wards are set for the night," she said.

He nodded and continued pacing. She ignored him and went into the kitchen and poured herself three fingers of Ogden's Fire Whiskey and went back outside to sit on the porch and watch the tide come in. He watched as she lit a cigarette, and the smoke curled away, caught by the evening breeze coming off the water.

Eventually, Viktor went outside. "Is it true?"

"That I killed Robbins?" She didn't look at him. "Yes."

Viktor's mouth dropped open. He stood there stunned.

"Pal of yours, was he?" Hermione took a sip of the whiskey.

"Fuck," Viktor said quietly.

"Not right now," she said glibly.

"That's not funny."

"Isn't it?" She still wouldn't look at him.

He shook his head slowly. "I cannot believe—"

"Seriously?" she said, angrily getting to her feet. "It was him or me. I'm so sorry he wasn't a quicker draw." She turned and marched off the porch.

"Hermione!" he shouted after her, but she went through the wards with a gesture that he knew would have taken him at least thirty seconds. Still, he knew she'd had to set up wards constantly on the run, so moving in and out of them was of no consequence to her. He stood watching until the darkness swallowed her. The moon was a waxing crescent and provided little light. It occurred to him that she might not return. She could easily finish the whiskey, turn the glass into a Portkey, and go back to London. She could and she might. He had no idea what she would do, and that was the problem. When he had been engaged to Nikolina, she might have stormed off in a tiff, but she would never have abandoned him. Nikolina had loved him in a predictable way, a way that could be comfortably taken for granted, a way that made him trust her love implicitly. He felt her loss deeply in moments like this. Hermione was unpredictable, uncomfortable, and he did not trust her affections, and yet he still wanted them. He didn't even know why. There was something so challenging about her, that it drew him to her, even when he suspected it ultimately wouldn't last. He ran his fingers back through his hair and stared out into the night. She had killed Patrick Robbins. It didn't seem possible, but then it didn't seem possible that she'd bitten off part of Draco Malfoy's ear either, and yet, she'd done that too. He went back inside for a glass of whiskey and to ponder what Hermione would do and whether or not Oliver was likely to know where the Portkey Office was in Guadeloupe.

xXx

Hermione walked by the water, the waves periodically washing over her feet and robbing the sand from beneath them. She drank the whiskey and smoked her cigarette and tried to remember killing Patrick Robbins. She knew it was during the last battle, and fairly early in the day, but she couldn't remember the details and that bothered her. Some deaths, of course, stood out. The last one, for example, she remembered in painful, grueling detail, the stuff of her nightmares. But others, like Robbins', weren't nearly so clear. Those deaths came in the midst of large chaotic battles and barely registered in the fog of war.

She and Ron and Harry had discussed it only once after a brief, brutish skirmish in the woods, that left two Death Eaters dead and the three of them mildly injured. When they were healing each other back at the tent, Ron had asked the question, "How many deaths, do you reckon, are down to us?"

Hermione had stopped dabbing Essence of Dittany on his leg and looked over at Harry, who shrugged. "I don't count," she'd finally said.

"Me neither," Harry agreed.

"I think I'm up to six," Ron had said sadly. "But it might be seven. I'm not sure I actually killed that one bloke."

Hermione and Harry had glanced worriedly at each other, but then Ron had asked about dinner, and the conversation had shifted to their meager supplies.

As Hermione walked across the beach, she was certain that by now, with the war over, her number was higher than seven, but she didn't think it was as many as twenty. Ron and Harry probably had numbers higher than hers. They often jumped into a fray first and had been in skirmishes without her. She finished her whiskey and continued down the shore, unable to decide when to return to the cottage or what to say to Viktor when she did. She looked at the glass in her hand and thought about just turning it into a Portkey and going home, but without Viktor, there was no reason to return, except work. As much as she loved her job, it didn't love her back, and couldn't keep her warm at night. She came around a bend in the beach, and there was Ron, standing waist deep in the waves, both hands on top of his head, staring out into the ocean. In the sliver of moonlight, she could see his shirt discarded on the beach, and she had a sudden urge to join him, to plunge into the water, and say to him all the things she had not said. She wanted an explanation, but more than that, she wanted an apology, but more than that, she wanted reconciliation. And deep down, if she was completely honest with herself, she just wanted him. She wanted to wrap herself around him. She wanted him inside her. The desire was a sudden upswell that was almost overwhelming. She was so tired of having to avoid him, so tired of the bond that held her to him no matter what. She wasn't angry at him anymore, just disappointed that he'd let it go on so long without ever once saying he was sorry. Was he that stubborn or that obtuse? Or perhaps, she just didn't matter that much to him. Perhaps, he wasn't bothered and she was the only one walking around with things left unsaid. Perhaps, he'd said all he had to say when he'd told her to get out. She closed her eyes against the pain of that thought. She looked down at the empty whiskey glass in her hand. At least the cottage had whiskey. She turned to start the long walk back. Surely, she'd know what to say to Viktor by the time she got there.

xXx

Ron knew she was behind him. He could feel her as clearly as if she were standing next to him in the waves. He argued with himself about turning around, but what would be the point? She'd likely just gone for a walk to clear her head and stumbled upon him by accident. It wasn't as if she'd gone looking for him. He played over the incident at the bar a thousand times. Why had he Apparated in like that? It was aggressive and provocative. His appearance had made things worse. He should have just walked over there. They were only across the road. Harry and Ginny had both clearly been irritated with him when he popped back to the cottage, so he'd gone for a walk rather than listen to them whinge about his actions. He didn't need them telling him he was git. He already knew that, so when Hermione came around the bend, he pretended not to know she was there. He kept staring at the water and wondering if it would really be so bad if he just walked into the waves and didn't come back. Of course, he knew it would be terrible. He couldn't do that to his parents or his siblings or Harry or Hermione. Despite being with Viktor, he knew she still loved him. He felt it in his bones, but he had to stop being so dramatic and just be patient. He'd get her back. Sure, it was taking longer than he'd hoped, but he'd seen the look on her face when Viktor had left the bar without her. There were cracks there. He just needed one of them to open enough for her to fall through and then she'd be his again. He was sure of it. He shook the sand out of his shirt, pulled it on, and walked back to the cottage. It was early yet. If Harry and Ginny wanted to whinge, they could whinge. He wasn't bothered.

xXx

Viktor was sitting at the little bistro table on the porch when Hermione got back to the cottage. She waved herself through the wards and stepped up onto the porch and sat across from him. They sat in silence for a long moment.

"We were not that close," Viktor said. "Robbins and I. We worked out together and played chess and cards some in the evenings. We talked about Quidditch and charms. I did not know his political views. We never talked about that."

"Did he know we were dating?"

Viktor shrugged. "Didn't everyone? It was in the paper."

"But he never mentioned it?"

"No. We didn't discuss girls." He shrugged again. "I liked him, but I didn't really know him."

Hermione nodded. Another long silence fell between them.

"So, what happened?"

Hermione closed her eyes. She was getting a headache. She wished he would just drop it. "I thought we already established that."

"Yes, but you didn't say how, I mean was it in a battle, did—"

Her eyes flashed open. "Of course, it was in a battle! I didn't murder him."

Viktor held up his palms. "I know. I just was wondering what happened."

Hermione sighed. "To be honest, I don't really remember. It was during the final battle at Hogwarts. A lot of people were involved. Curses were flying everywhere. I know I hit him, but I couldn't tell you the spell I used or exactly where or when it happened. That whole day is a bit of a blur."

Viktor sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. "Ah," was all he said. "So, he was not the one who scarred you."

She looked at him. "No."

"Good," he said quietly.

She got up and went inside for more whiskey. Viktor followed. "How many?" he asked as she poured herself another drink.

"This is just my second," she said, forgetting about the beer she'd had earlier.

"No. I meant, how many people have you killed?"

She glared at him. Part of her wanted to tell him it was none of his fucking business, but then she remembered he'd had a completely different life during the war. She blew out a calming breath and said, "I have no idea."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

"Really."

"Does that mean too many to count?" He looked appalled.

"It just means I didn't count. It's not like they were accomplishments to be proud of. I killed people who were trying to kill me or Harry or Ron or anyone else I cared about, okay?"

He rubbed a hand down his face. "I just…"

"What?" she shouted. "We weren't all playing Quidditch during the war! Some of us didn't have that option."

He looked stung. Then his face hardened, and he walked away from her. A moment later, he slammed the bedroom door and cast a locking charm. "Good job, Hermione," she muttered to herself. "You handled that well. Fucking genius, you are." She picked up the whiskey and went back outside. She sat down on the lounge chair, lit a cigarette, and wondered if Viktor would come back out, or if they were done for the night, or if perhaps, they were just done. "Fuck," she whispered to the night. "What is wrong with me?" She shook her head, disgusted with her own carelessness. She should never have questioned his commitment during the war. Viktor had been very outspoken against the Death Eaters. He'd used his notoriety to champion Harry's cause. He may not have fought, but he hadn't been complacent. A tear slipped down her cheek and she closed her eyes. There was no use crying about it. She'd hurt him. He'd had questions, and she'd acted like he was attacking her. Her response had been disproportional and cruel. Finding no excuse for her behavior, she let the tears fall.

She was so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep, but Viktor had locked her out of the bedroom. The sofa in the small living room of the cottage wasn't long enough to lay down on. It was really more of a loveseat. She could, of course, transfigure it, but that seemed exhausting at the moment. She could always break Viktor's charms, but she couldn't do it quickly or silently and that would likely make him even angrier than he already was. Besides, that would be even more exhausting than transfiguring the sofa. Out of options, she went back inside and pulled one of her sarongs off the back of an armchair. It was long enough for a makeshift blanket, and the night was warm enough that the thin fabric should be sufficient covering. Sighing, she went back outside and curled up on the lounge chair, remembering napping there with Viktor earlier, and how pleasant that had been. He was a good man. It wasn't his fault she had a past that he couldn't quite reconcile with her present.

xXx

All night, as soon as she would doze off, she would dream of the final battle at Hogwarts, the chaos, the screams, bleeding on the floor of that corridor, as she watched that Death Eater die. When the sun finally started to peek above the horizon, she gave up sleep all together, and went to sit on the beach and watch the sunrise. La Désirade was beautiful and well named, she thought. Tears slipped down her cheeks again. She wondered how Viktor would tell her it was over. She wondered how she was going to manage living in her parents' house alone again. The last time had not gone well.

"Did you sleep?" Viktor said behind her.

She looked up at him and shook her head. His hair was damp from the shower.

He sighed, handed her a cup of coffee, and sat down next to her. "Me either."

She took a grateful sip of the hot drink. "I'm sorry. I know you were very open for your support of Harry during the war. I'm sure that wasn't easy."

He shrugged.

"Most people didn't fight, but you weren't complacent, and that matters."

"Does it? Because last night it sounded like you were calling me a coward, and perhaps I was. Maybe I should have left Quidditch and joined the fighting."

Hermione shook her head. "No. As a pureblood, your public support was more valuable to our efforts than you throwing a few curses in a battle would've been. Hearts and minds are as important to win as battles." She put her hand on his arm. "And I don't think you're a coward. If I did, I wouldn't be here."

He held her gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry, I made you feel that way. I just… When you asked how Robbins died, I was…embarrassed, I guess, that I couldn't exactly remember. I mean, what does that say about me as a person, that I can't remember the specifics of killing him?" She felt sick, and the look of pity on Viktor's face didn't help. "I'm afraid one day, you're going to realize that there is all this darkness inside me, and it's going to be too much."

"There is darkness inside everyone," Viktor said.

"Maybe, but mine has a body count."

He nodded. "Yes, but when I asked you how many, I should have asked who, because I was wondering if anyone else I knew had attacked you. I wondered if anyone I'd eaten a meal with or played cards with was responsible for this terrible wound." He lightly touched her side. "It sickens me that I spent time with people who think so little of human life. Yours is not the darkness that bothers me, Hermione."

She didn't even try to stop the tears. She set her coffee cup in the sand and reached for his hand, but he pulled her to him, and she wept against his neck. He held her tight and made soothing sounds to try and calm her down. While her relief was overwhelming, she knew, deep down that there would come a time when he would tire of dealing with her.


	12. Le Monde Magique

The door to Oliver's cottage opened, and he stepped out on to his porch, yawning. "Morning. You two are up early. Are you ready to go?" He raised his eyebrows as he took in Hermione's outfit from last night.

"In a few minutes," Viktor said, getting to his feet. He held out a hand to Hermione who took it. He pulled her up. "Fishing," he reminded her.

"Right." She reached down for her coffee cup and quickly casting a charm to mask her tear stained face.

"Come with us," Viktor said. "You do not have to fish. You can read and sunbathe."

"I don't want to intrude."

"You would not be. Oliver," he shouted. "Tell Hermione she should come."

Oliver stepped off the porch and started toward them across the sand. "You should come." But Hermione could tell he was hesitant about it.

She looked from one to the other. "I don't think so." She looked at Viktor. "We're okay, right?"

"Of course."

She patted his chest. "Then go fishing."

"All right," he said, smiling at her. "Let me just grab my hat."

"I'll get it for you," Hermione said.

xXx

Oliver turned to Viktor when Hermione went inside. "Rough night?"

Viktor nodded.

Oliver tilted his head toward the cottage. "Couldn't help noticing she was asleep on the porch when I came home last night."

"We argued." Viktor rubbed his chin. "Misunderstanding."

"Ah," Oliver said. "Well, I'm glad you worked it out. You two give the rest of us slobs hope."

Viktor chuckled and shook his head. He and Hermione were hardly a paragon of happiness. Oliver really should raise his standards. On the other hand, given his taste in women, Oliver would be lucky to find a relationship as good as what Viktor had with Hermione.

Hermione came out and handed Viktor the hat she'd bought him.

"Thank you." He put it on and leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. "I will see you later."

"I'll probably be here reading most of the day. Although, I might have to walk into town for fish tacos."

"Good idea," he said.

As the two men walked down the beach toward the marina, she heard Oliver compliment Viktor's hat. She smiled and was pleased she'd thought to buy it.

xXx

Hermione's day went much like she'd envisioned. She changed into shorts and a T-shirt, then had fruit and yogurt for breakfast. After taking a brief walk along the water, she returned to read in the lounge chair on the porch. She had wards set up, and after a while, she took a nap, since she'd had so little sleep the night before.

When she woke up later, feeling refreshed, it was lunchtime, so she showered and walked into town. There was a little fish shack right on the water that had the most delicious aromas wafting from it every time she walked by. After standing in line for a few minutes, she ordered two fish tacos and a cold beer. As she turned to take her order over to one of the picnic tables, she saw Luna and Rolf already sitting at one. Luna waved.

Hermione smiled and walked over. "Hi Luna."

"Hi, I'm so glad I saw you," Luna said. "Ginny and I were sorry we missed you at the house the other day."

"Me too," Hermione said. "I wish I could have stayed."

"Join us," Luna said.

"I don't want to intrude."

"Please," Luna said, scooting over.

"Yes," Rolf agreed. "Sit down."

Hermione smiled. "All right then." She sat next to Luna.

"These are the best fish tacos I've ever had," Rolf said.

"And that's saying something because he's been all over the world." Luna looked at Rolf with undisguised adoration.

"Well," he said, blushing slightly. "I have eaten more than my share of fish tacos, and these are undeniably the best."

Hermione picked up a taco. "I've walked by this place several times this week, and they've smelled so good every time." She took a bite and made a delighted moan.

"Right?" Rolf said knowingly.

"Amazing," Hermione said around a mouthful of fish.

Luna grinned broadly.

Hermione had almost finished her first taco before she remembered to be polite. "How did you two meet?" she asked and took a sip of beer.

"I was doing a Magizoology fellowship," Luna said. "Rolf was one of the guides when we were in the Andes."

"She is undoubtedly the most original thinker I've ever met." Rolf gave Luna the same adoring look she'd given him earlier.

Hermione smiled. "She does think outside the box, which can be very useful in a tight spot."

As they finished their tacos and ordered another round of beer, Luna and Rolf talked about their time in the Andes and Hermione told the most flattering Luna stories she could think of from school and the war. When they were wrapping up the remains of their meal, Luna said, "I'm so glad you had lunch with us, I was afraid you might have left the island after what happened."

"Oh, come now," Hermione said. "Like I would let Pansy Parkinson chase me away. Please."

"No, of course not, I meant…" Luna hesitated and glanced at Rolf who raised his eyebrows. "Have you not seen the paper?"

"I haven't read the _Prophet_ since we got here," Hermione said, her stomach tightening. "Why? What have they done now?"

"Not the _Daily Prophet,_ " Luna clarified. " _Le Monde Magique_."

Hermione was confused. "I didn't know you read French."

"I don't," Luna said.

"I do." Rolf glanced worriedly at Luna. "I got the paper this morning."

Hermione's heart sank. "What? Just tell me."

"There are some photos," Luna said, cringing slightly. "I'm so sorry. I thought you knew."

Hermione grimaced. "What sort of photos?"

"From your trip here," Luna said. "There's one of you and Viktor in the water."

"More swimsuit pics?" Hermione shook her head in exasperation. "Why do they bother?"

"Well," Luna said awkwardly. "It doesn't look like you're swimming."

Rolf was clearly uncomfortable and looked away.

Hermione's heart sank as she remembered Alix's camera and wondered if she had a long lens for it. She thought about her tryst with Viktor in the ocean and put a hand over her eyes. "Do you have it with you?"

"No," Rolf said. "But I can nip back and get it."

"Do you mind?" Hermione asked.

"Of course not." He stood, drew his wand, and Disapparated.

"I'm so sorry," Luna said. "If there is anything I can do, some sort of response you'd like to have in the Quibbler, you know you need only ask."

"Thank you, but what's the point? If it's what I think, I'm pretty sure I know who took the photos, and she was an invited guest, so no one trespassed to take them."

Luna's mouth dropped open. "You know who took them?"

Rolf reappeared with a pop. He handed the paper to Hermione. "Back page. I'm so sorry. It's a huge invasion of privacy."

Hermione opened the paper and turned it over. There were three photos: the first was the one she, Viktor, Oliver, Alix, and Ken had posed for on the boat. The second was of Oliver taking a tumble into the water while attempting to windsurf, and finally there was the one of her and Viktor having sex in the ocean. The photo wasn't that revealing. They were chest deep in the water. Her breasts weren't even visible. If it hadn't been a magical photo, they could have just been hugging, but because of the magical loop, there was no doubt as to what they were actually doing, nor any doubt as to how much she enjoyed it. She covered her eyes with her hand again. "Well, this is a new low."

"It's egregious is what it is," Luna said. "To print such a thing is appalling."

"I wonder if the _Prophet_ will pick it up?" Hermione said.

"I don't think so," Luna said. "That's pretty graphic even for them."

"Let's hope you're right. This is pretty awful, but it would be a lot worse if it appeared in the _Prophet_. Viktor is going to be furious. So is Oliver. It was his ex-girlfriend who did this."

"Really?" Luna said. "Why?"

Hermione pointed to Alix in the photo. "She's horrible. Oliver broke up with her, and I suppose, this is her revenge." She sighed. She was getting a headache.

"I'm so sorry," Luna said again.

"Don't be," Hermione said. "There's nothing to be done about it. It is what it is."

"It's still appalling that they would print that," Rolf said.

Hermione sighed again. "Has anyone else seen these? Of our group?"

"Well, I got the paper before breakfast," Rolf said.

"Oh," Hermione said, crestfallen. "So, everyone then."

Luna nodded, her eyes sympathetic.

"All right then." Hermione stood and snapped her fingers. A cigarette appeared in her hand. "Thank you for an otherwise lovely lunch."

"It was so good to see you," Luna said.

"You too," Hermione said and lit the cigarette with another snap. "I think I'll head back. You two have a nice day."

Luna nodded. "You too."

"I'll do what I can." Hermione looked down at the paper. "You mind if I take this?"

"It's yours," Rolf said.

"Thanks."

They nodded their goodbyes and Hermione walked down the beach toward the cottage. Alix would be wise to never cross paths with her again.

xXx

When Viktor and Oliver returned from fishing, Oliver went back to his place to shower, and Viktor went into the cottage he was sharing with Hermione. She was in the living room sitting in an armchair with her feet up on the coffee table.

"I am back," Viktor announced happily. He was holding another large fish wrapped in butcher paper. "I brought dinner. I hope you do not mind that I asked Oliver to join us."

"That's fine. Is he coming right over? Because I need to talk to you."

"I told him seven o'clock."

"Good." Hermione looked at the clock. It wasn't half six yet. She reached for the copy of _Le Monde Magique_ that lay folded on the coffee table.

Viktor set the fish on the kitchen counter. "Why? What has happened?"

"Alix happened. And appears to still be happening." She opened the paper and handed it to him with the back page face up.

Fury flooded his face. "That bitch. Why would they print this? This is beneath such a venerable paper."

"I know. I was surprised too. Perhaps she knows the editor."

"Bitch," Viktor repeated. "Oliver is going to be so upset. How could she do this? Over a breakup? They were not even together that long."

"I know. It's horrible. I can't even…"

Viktor shook his head, staring at the photo. "I am so sorry. It was my idea. I should have known better."

She put her hand over his. "It's not your fault. It's hers. Besides, it's not as if I protested. I think it's fairly clear in the photo that I enjoyed myself quite a lot."

He smiled at her. "It does appear to be the moment of maximum enjoyment for you."

She nodded slowly. "And now the world knows what I look like in the middle of an orgasm. I really hope I never see Alix again. I don't know that I could control myself."

"At least you are not making some weird face," Viktor said. "You just look satisfied."

She pressed her lips together and shook her head at him. "You are so full of yourself."

"Can I help if I know how to please you?" He grinned at her.

She chuckled, but then sighed. "It's still so humiliating."

Viktor looked at the picture again. "No."

"No?"

"We look good. Besides, you cannot really see anything. Just two happy people in the water."

"So, you're okay with this?"

"Absolutely not. If I ever see that bitch again, I will hex her into next week. Not to mention, I will see that _Le Monde Magique_ is flooded with angry letters."

"You shouldn't write to them. That will only add fuel to the fire."

"The letters will not be from me," Viktor said grimly.

xXx

Later that night, Viktor, Hermione, and Oliver were having dinner on the porch. Viktor had grilled the large shad he'd brought home, and Hermione had made a fruit salad with fresh local mango, bananas, and pineapple. Oliver brought beer, and the three talked about the upcoming Quidditch matches and their return to London the next day. No one had mentioned _Le Monde Magique_. Hermione was still waiting for Viktor to say something, when Harry waved himself through Hermione's wards, and approached the porch.

Viktor frowned at Hermione, and she realized she hadn't mentioned that Harry could move through her wards as easily as she could.

"Good evening," Harry said. "I'm sorry to intrude on your dinner, but Hermione, I need a word."

"Oh," Hermione said, standing. "Sure, come in."

He followed her into the cottage and asked quietly, "Have you seen Ron?"

"Not since last night. Why?"

Harry cleared his throat. "He saw that French paper this morning and stormed out. No one has seen him since. He doesn't have his own Portkey, so he couldn't have gone home. Ginny is starting to get worried."

Hermione could tell Harry was worried. She suspected that he was more worried than Ginny, but didn't want to admit it. "What would you have me do?"

He pulled a map out of the side pocket of his shorts. "Do you have your bag?"

Hermione sighed. She did have her bag and they both knew that inside her magical bag among many other things was a vial of Ron's hair. "Harry," she said resignedly. She knew he wanted her to cast a location spell, and she knew she would do it.

"Come on. It'll only take a minute. I just need to check he's okay."

"I'm sure he is. I doubt his distress rises much past anger on my behalf."

Harry frowned at her. "I suspect it rises a lot higher than that."

She let out a derisive huff.

Viktor came into the cottage carrying three empty plates. "What is going on?"

"Harry needs me to do a location spell," Hermione explained. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Who are you trying to locate?" Viktor asked pointedly.

"Ron," Harry answered.

Viktor frowned at Hermione. "And how does he imagine you can do that?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Um, I keep vials in my bag for emergencies."

"Vials of what?" Viktor said, scowling.

"Hair," Hermione answered honestly. Lying would only make it worse.

"You keep Ron's hair in your bag?" His scowl deepened and his jaw clenched.

"Yes," Hermione said, using a wandless non-verbal Accio to bring a box of vials to the top of the bag. She pulled out Ron's and handed the box to Viktor. "And Harry's, mine, yours, and loads of other people's."

Viktor looked down at the vials and gave the box back to her. "Cast your spell. We will discuss this later."

Hermione withdrew a single strand of hair from Ron's vial, snipped off a small piece, placed it on top of Harry's map of the islands, cast a location spell, and let go of her wand. It zeroed in on a street in Guadeloupe. "That's your answer," she said to Harry.

"Damn," Harry said. "Now, I need to get a Portkey to Guadeloupe. How did he even get over there?"

"He probably took a Muggle boat this morning. Loads of them go back and forth," Viktor said.

Hermione looked at her wand floating above the map. "I could—"

"No!" Viktor said. "You said—"

"It's Harry," she said, without offering further explanation. "I'll be back in five minutes."

Viktor frowned and shook his head, but instead of saying anything else, he went back outside.

Hermione watched him go and sighed. It was going to be a long night. She looked at Harry. "Don't ever tell anyone I did this."

"Did what?" Harry asked.

But instead of answering, she took his arm and her wand and Disapparated. A moment later they were standing on a crowded street in Guadeloupe in front of a noisy bar that clearly catered to a Magical crowd.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped. "Did you just—?"

"No," Hermione said.

"But with just a map, that's—"

"No," Hermione insisted. "I didn't. You never saw that. Never experienced it. Do you understand?"

"But—"

"Never," Hermione said.

"Fine. But for something that never happened, that was bloody amazing."

Hermione shrugged. "Right, well, he's in there somewhere. Good luck." She raised her wand.

Harry caught her hand. "Wait. Aren't you going to help me?"

She frowned at him. "I just did. At no small cost to myself. Now I've got to go home and smooth things over with Viktor."

"Could you help me find Ron first? There must be hundreds of people in that place."

She gritted her teeth. "Fine." She marched into the club, not even bothering to look around, instead she just opened herself up to Ron's presence, and walked right to him. He was at the bar chatting up a cute woman with curly black hair. She laughed at something Ron said, and he smiled at her and took a long drink of beer.

Hermione frowned at Harry. "Clearly, he's fine. I'm done here."

Then Ron caught sight of them. "Hey!" He leaned over to the woman he'd been talking to. "I told you."

The woman's eyes widened as she took in the sight of Harry and Hermione.

"Ron," Harry said. "You've been gone all day."

"Right," Ron said. "Sorry about that." He finished his beer. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said to the woman next to him. "But duty calls."

She looked impressed as if Harry was asking him to go off and fight dark wizards.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Let's go." She started for the door.

Ron caught up with her just outside and put his hand on her shoulder. "Hang on. Why—"

She turned and knocked off his hand. "Don't touch me!"

"Hey," Harry said. "Come on, let's get back."

"Oh, I see," Ron said, scowling. "Viktor can fuck you in public, but I can't even put my hand on your shoulder."

Hermione clenched her jaw and glared at him. "That's right."

Ron stepped back, unprepared for her to agree with him.

"Let's not do this here," Harry said, looking around at the people beginning to notice them.

"Fine." Hermione grabbed them both by the elbow and Disapparated. She was none to gentle about it and dropped Ron just before they landed on the beach.

He fell face first and came up spitting sand. "Fucking bitch!"

"Oh, and then some!" The air crackled around Hermione.

"Ron!" Harry shouted.

"Fuck off, Harry," Ron growled at him. "Why'd you come get me anyway? I was having a perfectly good time until you two showed up."

"You're drunk," Harry said.

"So?" Ron said belligerently. "I'm on vacation."

"I'm not listening to this," Hermione said and turned to leave.

"That's right," Ron sneered. "Run away. That's all you ever do."

Something in Hermione clicked and her vision went red. She turned, wand raised, and went after him. "Don't you ever—!" Harry tackled her from the side and the hex she cast went harmlessly over the water. They landed with a thud on the sand and she kicked at him, but he held on.

"Have you lost your mind?" Harry said, struggling to keep her wand hand down. "We don't turn on each other."

"Does he know that?" Hermione shouted, still trying to get out of Harry's grip. "Because he…" She stopped struggling, suddenly sad and desperate to tell the truth, but knowing she wouldn't actually do it.

"He what?" Harry asked, their eyes locked.

Hermione blinked back tears. She shook her head. "Nothing. Let me up. I won't hurt him."

"Hermione?"

"Please," she begged. "Please."

He let go of her and she Disapparated without even standing up first.

Harry got to his feet and turned to face Ron, who looked horrified and then promptly threw up. "Oh, for fuck's sake." Harry cast a spell to remove the vomit and Ron dropped to his knees. "What is wrong is you?"

Ron looked up at him angrily. "Really? What's wrong with me? How about picture Ginny and Dean on the back of that French rag and then ask me that."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, okay. I get it."

Ron dropped his head into his hands.

Harry stared at him. Hermione was furious tonight, but then also sad, and then positively desperate to get away. "What happened between you two?" he asked for what felt like the millionth time.

Ron just shook his head. "She hates me."

"But she doesn't. If she did, she wouldn't have done any of the things she did tonight."

Ron pressed his hands tighter against his face and let out an anguished sob.

Harry sighed and watched the tide roll in. "I'm sorry, mate. I'm really sorry."

xXx

Hermione couldn't get herself righted while she Apparated, so she made an uncharacteristically hard landing on the sand and it knocked the wind out of her. She lay there silently crying and trying to catch her breath.

Unfortunately, Viktor and Oliver were still sitting on the porch.

"Bloody hell," Oliver said at her awkward landing, but Viktor was already up and running toward her. Oliver ran after him.

"Are you alright?" Viktor said, holding out his hand for her. She took it and he pulled her up. "Why didn't you land on your feet?"

"I didn't start that way." She glanced at Oliver.

"You are covered in sand," Viktor continued, oblivious to Oliver's continued presence. "Why are you crying?"

"Well," Oliver said loudly. "I'm knackered. I'll just get along home then."

"Goodnight," Viktor said without looking at him.

"Goodnight, Oliver," Hermione said with a sorrowful grimace.

Oliver walked back to his own cottage, glancing back worriedly as he went.

When Hermione didn't respond to his question, Viktor shouted, "What the hell?"

"I'm sorry." She started for the cottage.

Viktor followed her. "Sorry for what?"

Hermione sighed. "Everything."

"That is not good enough. Harry shows up, and it is like you are a completely different person. It does not matter what he says, you go along with it."

She closed her eyes. There was no point in arguing. He wasn't wrong.

"The war is over. I see no reason why you should be illegally Apparating with him just because he does not know where Ron is."

"No reason?" Hermione said incredulously. "How about he's Harry Potter. Go ask Oliver if Harry showed up and asked him to do something if he would turn him down."

"But he does not ever ask Oliver. He only asks you."

"Right. And when he asks, I go."

"Why? We were right in the middle of dinner. It was not an emergency."

"He was worried."

"About Ron. How is that your problem anymore?" Viktor was clearly exasperated with her.

"Because," Hermione said quietly, her eyes downcast. "It's not the Golden Duo. It's the Golden Trio, and membership is for life. Even if I'm a hundred and thirty years old, at Christmastime, with a house full of relatives, if Harry shows up and needs me, I'm still going to go." She sighed and looked up at Viktor. "And the truth is, if Ron showed up and said he needed my help, I'd do the same thing."

Viktor's frown deepened. "How can you say that?"

"Because it's true."

He shook his head and turned to go into the bedroom.

"Please don't lock me out tonight."

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm sorry. I wish I were different. You don't know how much I wish that. I would love it if the war and the notoriety and all of that would just go away. I would love to just be me again. I would love to be fully available to you. I really would, Viktor. You deserve so much more than I can offer."

He looked at her. "You are filthy."

Her heart sank.

"Come," he said, holding out his hand. "We will get you clean."

Surprised, she let him lead her to the shower. He turned on the water and then drew his wand and cast a cleaning charm to remove most of the sand, before slowly undressing her. She watched him, unsure of how to feel, unsure of how he felt.

xXx

Viktor didn't know what to do about Hermione. In some ways, he knew she was absolutely right. He did deserve more than she could offer. On the other hand, she offered quite a lot, more than most of the women he'd been with, and the one woman, who'd offered so much more, was dead now. He sighed as he eased her dress over her shoulders and kissed the skin scraped raw. When she fell Apparating, she landed hard, but didn't slide, so he couldn't help wondering when that happened. He considered healing it, but then decided, if she wanted him to heal it, she could ask. He knew she wouldn't, because she clearly didn't want to explain how it happened, but he refused to make it easier for her to remain quiet. As her removed her clothes, he knew he would never have all of her, but perhaps he didn't need that. Maybe what they had was good enough. He knew, all to well, that to love deeply was risky.

For the most part, she was an easy companion. She was patient with his schedule in ways that few of his other lovers had been. She was his intellectual equal and didn't mind complex philosophical discussions at any time of day. In her regular daily life, she was quiet and undemanding, engrossed in her work, and not fussy in her clothes or hair, and yet, she was perfectly willing to dress up and go out with him. She never balked at clothing he chose, even though he sometimes deliberately chose an outfit that was dramatic or sexy or both to see if she'd actually wear it, but she always did. She never complained about the company or the hours they kept. She was a very good dancer, fun and uninhibited, and she was equally good and uninhibited in the bedroom. He slid his thumbs inside the waistband of her underwear and slid them down. He kissed her body on his way back up. She didn't squirm or move, she just watched. Her quiet observation turned him on in a way that made him want to make her squirm, make her cry out, make her come undone. She was about eighty percent perfect for him, he thought, as he led her into the shower.

The water seemed to wake her up from whatever had kept her entranced, and as she knelt before him, he thought, eighty-five percent.

xXx

Ron and Harry went back to their cottage without saying another word, both lost in thought as to how they'd ended up in this mess. Still drunk, Ron walked straight through the living room, back to the bathroom, and into the shower, without saying anything to Ginny, who was waiting for them on the porch.

As he soaked his head under the hot spray, he replayed the nights events. He didn't understand what the big deal was that he'd put his hand on her shoulder. _What the hell was she so angry about? She left me!_ He knew he'd told her to go, but that was drunk talk. She must have known that, but she left anyway. And sure, he was drinking too much back then, but he was still recovering, and it was taking forever to get his magic back. She left him when he was still recovering. _How come no one ever brings that up? Who leaves someone under those conditions? A fucking bitch, that's who_ , he thought. He gagged and fought back the urge to vomit again. He regretted having so much to drink. He knew he was an ass when he drank. _Fuck_ , he thought, _fuck!_ He thought about the woman back at the bar who'd been so impressed to meet him. She was a hot little number with caramel colored skin and all that dark curly hair. Her smile lit up the room, and she was so open and happy. He considered Apparating back to that bar to see if she was still there. Then he gagged again and reconsidered. Drunk Apparition was always a bad plan. Unbidden the photo of Viktor and Hermione in the water popped into his head. He clenched his teeth and tapped his forehead against the tile trying to make the image go away, but it persisted.

Despite all the perfectly lovely women he'd been with in the intervening months, he still missed Hermione. He missed the way she so effortlessly matched his rhythm in bed. He missed the little sounds she made and the way she surged and tightened up around him when she came. He missed all that hair fanned out across the pillow. He missed the way she drank tea in the morning, curled up with her feet in the seat of the chair. He missed the way she stroked the end of a quill across her lips when she was thinking. He missed having easy access to that big brain of hers when he had a thought or a question. But mostly he missed the way she used to look at him like she loved him more than anyone else in the world. She was extraordinary, and yet, she'd chosen him. No one else was ever going to make him feel that special.

He thought again about that last night. He remembered he'd been drinking. He remembered shouting at her about the all the time she spent at the Ministry and how she thought she was better than everyone else because she was trying to become an Unspeakable. He remembered telling her she should just go and he remembered going back to the pub. But then there was a big blank spot, followed by a brief awakening with her kissing her way up his body, but maybe that was just a dream, or a memory from a different night. He wasn't sure. When he woke again, she was gone. He pressed his forehead against the tile again, desperate to remember what he'd done. George and Ginny had asked. Even his mum had asked. Harry kept asking. He never answered, because he couldn't, but it must have been something awful, because he'd told her off before for spending so much time at the Ministry. He'd even told her to leave before, but she'd never actually gone until that last night. She'd been so infuriating back then. Instead of Hermione, she'd been more like the ghost of Hermione, silent and anguished, like the Gray Lady. The loss of her parents had shattered her in a way that none of the other bad things that had happened to her ever had. He'd been too damaged by his own problems to cope with her, so he'd wrecked it.

He thought of the photo of her with Viktor. When she'd dated him fourth year, Ron had thought nothing could ever hurt so bad, but that pain was almost comical in comparison to his current agony. Her absence left a gaping hole in his life, that he couldn't fill with any amount of money or booze or sex. It just sat there like a horrible chasm that he fell into every time he saw her. He wanted to blame her, wanted to hate her, but he knew it was a catastrophe of his own making. He thought about her rage earlier. She'd been furious in so many of their encounters since the breakup. Still, all that rage told him one significant thing: she still loved him. The opposite of love wasn't hate. The opposite of love was indifference. Hermione was anything but indifferent to Ron. He reminded himself, not for the first time, that he had to be patient.

xXx

Hermione was both relieved and apprehensive to take the Portkey back to London. She was happy to get off that small island and away from Ron, but she was concerned that she and Viktor hadn't really resolved their last argument and instead had opted to sidestep it. Once they were home, she couldn't help wondering if Viktor would broach the subject again, but he didn't. Instead, their life fell back into normal rhythms. He returned to Quidditch, and she returned to the Ministry. She went to as many of his matches as she could manage, and he seemed to appreciate the effort. Weeks rolled by and her last encounter with Ron and Harry began to recede.

Summer slipped away as Viktor spent his off hours teaching Hermione the traditional Bulgarian horo dance that they would be doing at Pietra and Todor's upcoming wedding. Todor had chosen Viktor as his best man. Pietra had intended to have Bokya, a close friend from school, as her maid of honor, but Boyka had been struggling with a deep depression since the suicide of her lover, Marianna, and wasn't up for the task. She would be at the wedding, but not in the wedding party. Since Pietra's other closest friend had been Viktor's former fiancé, Nikolina, Pietra had asked Hermione if she wouldn't mind stepping in. Hermione was delighted and honored. She spent much of August and September going back and forth to Bulgaria. Viktor joined her whenever his schedule would allow.

Since their first disastrous trip to Bulgaria the previous year, Hermione was very cautious while there. Eastern Europe still had a significant population that was sympathetic to Death Eaters, so Hermione only went out in public under a glamour charm, and made all their Portkeys herself, so no one would know when they were there or how long they would be staying. Viktor was no safer than Hermione. He had been pushing publicly for Durmstrang to open to Muggleborns, a huge step for a school that only started allowing half-bloods in the last century. Hermione was his shining example of the kind of power the school was failing to educate, so Eastern European Muggleborns were being educated in schools like Beauxbatons, and often stayed in that part of the world, thus robbing countries like Bulgaria of considerable magical talent. For her part, Hermione had been the poster child for the importance of Muggleborns to the magical community for so long, that she took the whole thing as par for the course. Inevitably, trips back to Bulgaria with Viktor included fancy private dinners and conversations with influential witches and wizards, who were anxious to meet the British Muggleborn member of the Golden Trio, who had helped Harry Potter defeat Voldemort, spoke Bulgarian, and had seemingly captured Viktor Krum's heart. Hermione wasn't so sure about that last bit, but Viktor never questioned it when someone said it, so Hermione let it go, happy that they were both content.


	13. A Wedding

A week before the wedding, Hermione arrived home from work to find Viktor in the living room wrapping a long scarf around a six-foot pole. 

He smiled at her. "What do you think?"

"It's very…long."

Viktor looked at the pole. "No. It is six feet like usual."

"Usual?" 

"Yes."

Confused, Hermione asked, "Usual for what?"

"The wedding, of course. It is my job as best man to make the groom's banner."

She had no idea what he was talking about. "Okay."

"Why? Who makes it for English weddings?" 

"No one. I've never seen a groom's banner before."

"Really?" Viktor secured the scarf with a spell. "Well, anyway, I will finish this when we get to Sophia tomorrow. I have already made an appointment for us to get you a dress."

"Viktor, please, I have more than enough dresses. Surely, I can wear something I already own."

He shook his head. "Madam Malkin does not make traditional Bulgarian dresses."

"Oh, of course." Generally, she didn't have to be fitted, because her measurements were on file at Madam Malkins. She sighed.

"Do not be like that. You will not have to be there long. Traditional dresses are simple in style, but complex in embroidery. It will not take long to fit you."

"Fine."

"Good." He propped the grooms banner against a bookcase. "We will look very nice."

"Don't we always?" 

"Yes," he said.

She put her arms around his neck. "Thanks to you."

"I am glad you appreciate my efforts." He nuzzled her neck.

"I do." She shifted to give him better access. "I really do."

xXx

The weather for the wedding was perfect. The whole week had been clear and sunny and the temperature was in the low sixties with a slight breeze. Viktor and Hermione were having coffee on the balcony of their hotel room in Sofia enjoying a quiet morning before the festivities started. 

"How was Todor last night?" she asked Viktor. 

"Anxious," Viktor said. Because of Todor's addiction problems, they had forgone a bachelor party and the two men had gone fishing for the day with some other friends and had camped out for the night. Viktor had returned to the hotel only a little while ago after safely delivering Todor to his parents' house to prepare for the wedding.

"Really? Pietra is completely serene." All week, Hermione had expected some sign of nervousness from Pietra, but she'd remained preternaturally calm through all the pre-wedding rigmarole.The hen party the previous night had also been low key, but at least there had been wine.

Viktor chuckled. "That does not surprise me. She has a very soothing nature. They are good together, because he fires her up, and she calms him down. They are very balanced. It is only when he is using drugs that things go awry."

"That makes sense." She sipped her coffee. He glanced over at her without further comment. Viktor and Hermione were very similar in temperament. She couldn't help wondering if he thought that was ultimately a bad thing. Unbidden, Ron popped into her mind, and she couldn't help noting, that before things had soured between them, they were perfectly balanced. But like Todor's addictions, Ron's injuries and subsequent drinking, followed by her deep depression after the murder of her parents, had spun them out of control, wrecking their delicate equilibrium.

She glanced at Viktor, who was drinking his coffee and enjoying the view. Pietra had made several comments during the week hinting that she thought Viktor and Hermione should get married. Hermione always pleasantly side-stepped the issue. She wondered if Viktor had been fielding the same sorts of comments from Todor. Couples getting married seemed to always want everyone else to get married too?

Viktor cleared his throat. "I should warn you, my parents will be at the wedding."

"Okay." Given her previous encounters with his parents, she hoped they wouldn't have to interact with them much. 

"They will be sitting at the same table as us." He ran his thumb around the edge of his coffee cup like he was looking for cracks.

"Great." _So much for minimal interaction,_ she thought.

He sighed. "I know, but it would look bad to seat us separately. Todor is very close to them. They took him in when his own parents had had enough of his drug use."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That was kind of them."

Viktor sighed again. "They are not monsters. Yes, they have their prejudices and their vices, but they can also be charitable and kind."

"As long as it's the right sort of people in need, I suppose."

"Yes. Their kindness is primarily toward family. Since I have been so outspoken concerning Muggleborns being accepted into Durmstrang, and since my association with you, they have been even kinder to Todor." He smiled and shook his head. "I think they might be trying to make me jealous, but I am happy that they are so good to him. He really needed their help when he was getting clean, and they gave it."

Hermione wasn't sure how to respond. "Well, good for Todor." 

"He does not share their prejudices. But he does not argue with them like I do. He accepts them for who they are, just as he accepts me for who I am."

She sipped her coffee. She wished he would stop circling the subject and just say what he wanted to say. Instead, he sipped his own coffee, but his left index finger was steadily tapping on the arm of his chair. Irritated, she put her hand over it to stop the tapping. "Are you under the impression that I can't control myself?"

"Of course not," he said a little too quickly. "But my mother can be very provocative and you speak Bulgarian fluently now."

Hermione leveled her gaze at him. "Please. I've dealt with her sort of prejudice in the Muggle and magical worlds my whole life. I assure you, I can handle it."

"I know," he said quietly, but then he looked confused. "Who was prejudiced against you in the Muggle world? And why? Did they know you were a witch?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's nothing to do with that. Only my parents knew I was witch, and they loved me unconditionally."

"Then I do not understand…"

"I'm mixed race—"

"Because your parents are Muggles, but I don't—"

"No. The Muggles don't know that. It bothered some people that I had a black grandmother."

"Why? Was she evil?"

"No. She was just black."

"I do not understand. What has that to do with anything?"

"Nothing. But some Muggles care a great deal about the color of someone's skin, and mine is a bit darker than most Englishwomen's. Most people don't care, but the ones who did would often make nasty comments."

"That is ridiculous."

"In the same way your mother's opinions are, yes."

He shook his head.

"Add to that I'm a woman and—"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You really don't know anything about the Muggle world, do you?"

He shook his head, his cheeks coloring slightly. "No. Perhaps we should do some educational trips."

She chuckled. "Maybe the next time we vacation, we'll spend a bit more time in the Muggle areas."

"So, explain to me why anyone could be prejudiced against half the population?"

"Not quite half." She sighed. "It's down to physical strength and babies I guess."

Viktor looked confused again.

"Men are physically stronger than women. Without magic to equalize that, men dominate the Muggle world. It's not as bad in some places as it used to be, but there are still issues."

"That is awful," Viktor said.

"It is," Hermione agreed. "That's also likely why witches were persecuted so vociferously. Powerful women make some Muggle men very nervous and angry."

"Weak-minded men," Viktor commented.

"Yes."

"Huh, so what is that to do with babies?"

"Women have them, and without a spell, or now a DNA test, to determine paternity, for millennia there was a level of distrust between the sexes."

"That is terrible."

Hermione shrugged. "It's not all the time and not all men. Although the culture is stacked in their favor, women have made great strides in shifting toward equality, but it's a continuous effort. All I'm saying is that it's not a picnic to be me in either world. Short of her drawing her wand against me, I can control my temper. I might need to walk away, but I'm not going to go after your mother in the middle of Todor and Pietra's wedding if that's what you're worried about."

"I am not worried," Viktor said, again, a little too quickly.

"Uh huh."

"I think she will hold her tongue. They are very disappointed in some of my life choices, but to air that disappointment at the wedding would not be like them at all. Still, she can make some subtly snide comments, that were you not so fluent, you would likely miss. If only you were not such a quick study…" He smiled at her.

"Next time try dating a pastry chef instead of an Unspeakable."

"No. If I date a pastry chef, I will get fat." He patted his flat stomach.

Hermione snorted, but couldn't help noting that he didn't deny that there would be a next one. When they were happy, Ron's response would have been, 'No such luck, you're stuck with me forever, but if you want to learn to make pastries, I'm all for it.' She could hear him say it as clearly as if they'd actually had that conversation, and the loss of that certainty left her with a profound sadness.

Misinterpreting her change in expression, Viktor took her hand and kissed it. "Do not worry. Today will be fun. My parents will not spoil it."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm not worried."

He leaned in and kissed her neck, the mustache he'd grown for the wedding ticked her. She giggled and squirmed away from him, which just enticed him to keep going. All worries about his parents were forgotten for the moment.

xXx

The wedding was fun. The weather held. Everyone was decked out in traditional garb and in high spirits. Todor was all in white with a colorfully embroidered red scarf tied at his waist. Pietra's underdress was white with a red, elaborately embroidered apron over it. The embroidery was, of course, magical, so the pattern shifted and moved as Pietra did. She wore a matching red head scarf to glittering effect. Viktor and Hermione were dressed similarly, but Hermione's apron was black as was the scarf at Viktor's waist. The ceremony was beautiful. They were married outside, and the whole spectacle was gorgeous. After the vows, Todor's mother stepped forward carrying a long loaf of bread. She held it over her head, and people began to chuckle and speculate as Todor and Pietra each drew their wands. Viktor leaned over and whispered to Hermione, "My money is on Pietra even though I think Todor is the stronger magically."

"I'm confused," Hermione said, her brow wrinkling. "We don't do this in England."

"Whichever one of them gets the largest piece of bread is said to dominate the marriage."

They each cast Accio at the same time and the loaf separated sending pieces flying to each of them and showering Todor's mother in crumbs. Todor and Pietra each held up their chunk of bread and everyone laughed. Pietra's was larger.

"Thank goodness," Todor exclaimed. "For a moment there, I thought I might have to be in charge."

Everyone laughed.

Viktor grinned. "I just made enough money to cover the cost of our trip."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "People bet on that."

"Of course."

While everyone was still standing around in a circle, Todor's father brought over a small copper kettle of red and white roses.

"What's this?" Hermione whispered to Viktor.

"To determine the sex of the first child. White for a girl. Red for a boy," he explained.

Todor kicked over the kettle and a white rose rolled out and landed in front of Hermione, which was oddly far for something not round to roll. Todor locked eyes with her for a moment, and Hermione had a sinking sensation. No one else seemed to notice, and the crowd cheered for what they interpreted as a future daughter. Hermione smiled and clapped too, but the day was suddenly tinged with sadness for her. She was relieved when the reception started so she could have a drink. The crowd began to dance the Horo and, thanks to Viktor's instruction, Hermione fell right in, enjoying the group dance immensely. After dancing went on for an hour, dinner was served. Viktor and Hermione were seated at a table across from his parents. His father smiled at her. "You are a good dancer."

"Thank you," Hermione said.

Viktor's mother made a kind of tsking noise, but then she surprised Hermione by nodding. "Where were you trained?" she asked in heavily accented English.

"I went to Lily Saint Thomas Academy of Dance in London starting when I was three until I was eleven," Hermione responded in flawless Bulgarian.

Viktor's parents glanced at each other. His father smiled and nodded. His mother frowned slightly.

"I do not know this school," she answered in Bulgarian, "but they seem to have instilled in you the fundamentals. That is all that good dancing requires."

"My mother teaches dance," Viktor said. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, surprised that he'd never mentioned that before. "Her school is the best in Eastern Europe."

"Viktor may be biased since that is where he was trained," his mother said demurely, her cheeks coloring.

"That's fantastic," Hermione said. "How did you get your start?" Dinner conversation revolved around dance after that, and Hermione felt a slight thaw in the frostiness of Viktor's parents toward her. She didn't expect them to ever approve of his choice to date her, but at least there was some common ground to fill the silence.

After dinner, dancing continued late into the night.

xXx

Viktor went to get drinks, and Hermione gratefully sat down for a much-needed break. She wasn't there long when Boyka joined her.

"Hi," Boyka said, sitting next to her. "Are you having fun?"

"Yes. It's been a lovely evening." Hermione was ashamed to realize she'd been avoiding Boyka all day. Boyka was a reminder of what had happened in Amsterdam, and Hermione preferred not to think about that, but Boyka hardly looked like the slender, athletic woman she'd met last year. Instead, she was skeletal, and her skin had a gray tinge to it. Clearly, she still hadn't recovered from the loss of Marianna.

Boyka nodded. "I'm glad they're happy and that Todor is clean now."

"Me too."

"I meant to send you and Viktor an owl last week," Boyka said, in a voice that was just above a whisper. "My cousin died."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said.

"Are you?"

Hermione wrinkled her brow in confusion.

"My cousin Filip was the one who died."

"Oh," Hermione said grimly. It was Filip who'd drugged the pumpkin juice in Amsterdam thus facilitating all that happened after.

"Idiot," Boyka said grimly. "He went into a dragon enclosure on a dare."

Hermione grimaced. "Why?"

"To steal an egg. Because he was just that stupid. All they found were charred bones."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said again.

Boyka shook her head. "Thing is, I'm not sorry. I wish it had happened two years ago, before I ever introduced him to Marianna."

Hermione rested a hand on Boyka's forearm and was disturbed by how cool and papery her skin felt. "That was a terrible loss."

Boyka nodded. "Indeed. Anyway, I just thought you should know. I think I'm going to head home. It's late."

"Yes. I suspect we'll be doing the same soon."

"Goodnight." Boyka drew her wand and Disapparated.

Viktor came over and handed Hermione a glass of beer.

"Thanks."

Viktor sat down in the chair Boyka had vacated. "What did Boyka have to say?"

Hermione told him.

"I cannot say I am sorry that bastard is dead, but I am sorry that it is just more pain that she must go through. Boyka needs a break."

Hermione nodded and sipped her beer. "I feel awful for her."

"Me too." The wedding was starting to wind down and there were far fewer couples dancing.

"I suppose, that since we're in the wedding party, we're expected to stay until the bitter end."

Viktor shrugged. "I do not know. I have never been the best man before. I am not sure. I will ask Todor."

As if summoned, Todor came over to them. He leaned down and spoke in a low tone. "I am not trying to rush you two off, but if you leave, people will take it as a sign that the party is over, and Pietra and I can go home."

Viktor chuckled. "We were just wondering about that." He stood and held out his hand for Hermione. They began circulating and saying their goodbyes.


	14. Regrettable Choices

Ron was in Prague at the Portkey office, waiting for the attendant to return with whatever they'd fashioned into a Portkey to take him back to England. He'd met with a buyer and felt like the entire meeting had gone really well. Not only had the witch agreed to sell some of his televisions, but she was interested in Fred and George's non-joke products as well. He couldn't wait to tell the twins that he was such a good salesman he could sell his goods and theirs as well. As he waited, he glanced around the large room where several other people were also milling about. There was a newsstand in one corner with an old wizard hunched on a stool next to a rack of magazines and newspapers from around the world. He wandered over hoping to find a copy of _Quidditch Illustrated_ or the _Daily Prophet_ but the _Quibbler_ , or even _Witch Weekly_ would do, anything in English. As he perused the covers, something unexpected caught his eye. It was a magazine that he'd never seen before. He couldn't read the language but there was Hermione standing next to Viktor with the other couple he'd met at that art event last year. It looked an awful lot like one of the two couples were getting married, or maybe it was both. He quickly found the article and looked at all the photos but he still couldn't sort out exactly what was happening. It didn't look like an English wedding, if in fact, that's even what he was looking at. Maybe it was just some sort of traditional dress party, but both couples were in white with the only difference being the color of the men's sashes and the women's aprons.

The old wizard said something to him in Czech.

"What?" Ron asked.

The man cleared his throat and said in heavily accented English, "Are you going to buy that?"

"Uh," Ron said, reaching into his pocket for a few coins. "Is this enough?"

The old wizard took two of the coins from Ron's palm, leaving the other two.

"Can you read this?" Ron asked.

The other man shook his head. "No. That's Bulgarian."

"Right," Ron said, looking down at the magazine. His heart was pounding and he had a headache. She couldn't have married Viktor in some sort of double wedding with his friends. She couldn't do that to him. He thought about the small ring box in his sock drawer back home as he looked around the room wondering if anyone spoke Bulgarian, but before he could ask, the attendant returned and handed him a pencil.

"Step outside please. You're set to go in two minutes."

"Right," Ron said. He made his way to the platform outside, the magazine clenched tightly in his fist. He barely noticed when he was yanked off the platform.

When he landed outside the Ministry, he started down the street walking as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run. His long legs took him quickly to the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron and he tore through the Muggle side and into the magical side and out back to the brick wall that lead to Diagon Alley. He cast the spell to enter the alley and all but ran to Borgin and Burkes. He asked the first employee he saw where the translation spell books were. He was directed to a wall on the right and found a thick tome on spells to translate the languages of Europe. He didn't bother to check the cost and took it right to the counter. Like all spell books, it was pricey, but these days Ron didn't care so much about money. Besides, he needed this.

Unfortunately, back in his flat, he realized that he had absolutely no experience with this kind of spell. Every time he attempted it he got garbage. Off the top of his head, he could only think of one person who could help him right this minute, or at least, he hoped she could. Drawing his wand, he Apparated to Shell Cottage.

xXx

A front was moving in off shore, threatening rain, but for the moment the cottage was bathed in the late afternoon sunlight and a chilly breeze was blowing off the water. He could hear a Quidditch match on the wireless as he approached the door and knocked.

A moment later, Fleur opened the door. "Ron? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, I just need some help with a spell," Ron said stepping inside.

"Who is it?" Bill yelled from the parlor.

"It's just Ron," Fleur called back.

"Don't get up," Ron said as went into the parlor. "I just need to translate an article and I thought Fleur might be able to help me with the spell."

"You want me to teach you the spell or just cast it?" Fleur said. "Translation spells are really fiddly and take a long time to learn."

"Oh," Ron said. "Could you just cast it then?"

"Sure," Fleur said. "Come in the kitchen and let me see what you've got."

From the parlor they could hear Bill grumble at the radio, "Are you kidding me? How could he have missed the Quaffle again?"

"The Arrows are not doing well today," Fleur said to Ron.

"I completely understand. The Cannons are almost never doing well," Ron said, smiling.

Fleur nodded knowingly. "So, what do you have?"

Ron had marked the page with the Bulgarian to English translation spell by stuffing the magazine into the book. Hermione would have been appalled. She complained bitterly when he did things like that in school, grumbling about wrinkling pages and breaking spines. "I need to translate this article," he said to Fleur.

Fleur looked at the photos for a moment and gave him a concerned look but at least had the decency not to actually say anything. Instead she moved the magazine and looked at the spell. "I think I can do this. It's not so different from others I've done." Drawing her wand, she practiced the hand movement and the words a couple of times and then cast it on the magazine. The words of the article shifted and morphed into English.

"Thank you," Ron said. "How long will the translation last?"

"Until someone casts a spell to undo it," Fleur said.

"Great," Ron said, tucking the magazine under his arm. Fleur handed him the large book of translation spells. "Do you just want to keep it?"

"Are you sure? It's such a nice book."

"Consider it payment for the translation," Ron said smiling. "I'll see you two later."

"Ron," Fleur said, resting a cool hand on his forearm. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," Ron said. "Thanks for your help. Bye Bill," he called out to his brother before stepping outside and Disapparating.

xXx

Back at his flat, Ron took out the magazine, braced himself, and read the article. An overwhelming sense of relief flooded him when he realized that it was Todor and Pietra that got married and that Viktor and Hermione had been best man and maid of honor. Of course, once he looked at the photos more closely, it was obvious that was the case. He'd just been in such a panic before that he hadn't stopped to really analyze what he was looking at. He tossed the magazine on his coffee table and fell back against the sofa and closed his eyes. He couldn't keep doing this. Panicking at every little thing she did with Viktor wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed to talk to her, really talk to her, but every time he'd attempted it, she'd seemed deeper into Viktor's world. Now she was standing up at his friend's wedding. He shook his head. Seeing her dressed in traditional Bulgarian clothing was so disturbing. Wearing that embroidered apron seemed like the embodiment of being wrapped up in Viktor. Ron didn't get it. He didn't understand how she couldn't miss her life. She hadn't just walked out on him. She'd walked out on his family, on Harry, on all her school friends. No one he knew ever saw her on her own. If she made appearances at house parties or in town, she was always with Viktor, or worse, with his whole bloody team. Only Percy ever mentioned seeing her on her own and that was always at work. Oddly enough, of his entire family, Percy seemed angriest at Hermione for walking out. Of course, he'd once done the same thing, so seeing her do it just made him feel worse about his own behavior.

Ron sighed and got up. He needed to see the twins to let them know about the sales he'd made in Prague.

xXx

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was already closed when Ron walked into the back room to find the twins playing poker and drinking beer with Lee Jordan, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan.

Fred was shaking his head and laughing as Ron walked in. "Chucked out again? Bloody hell, what did you do this time?"

"Nothing," Lee grumbled.

George shook his head. "You must have done something." He looked up at Ron. "Right Ron?"

Ron frowned at him. George laughed wryly.

Fred gave Lee a sympathetic look. "Seriously man, what did you do?"

Lee shook his head. "I was an ass. Rough day at work and kind of took it out on her when I got home."

The other guys all raised their eyebrows.

"I said some things that were…regrettable." He shook his head. "She knows I didn't mean them."

"Uh," Fred said. "Clearly not if she chucked you out."

"No, no, she'll come around," Lee said. "She just needs time to cool off."

George looked at Ron. "What do you think, Ron? You think she just needs time to cool off?"

Ron shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Maybe."

George shook his head.

"Just go apologize," Seamus said. "That's likely all she needs."

"No need," Lee said. "She knows I regret saying that stuff. She knows I didn't mean it. Like I said, she just needs time to cool off."

Seamus shook his head. "Regret isn't an apology, is it? Go tell her you're sorry. Then you can stop sleeping on my couch."

The other guys laughed, but Seamus' words cut through Ron like a knife. He pulled the bill of sale from the buyer in Prague and tossed it on the table in front of George. "Made some sales for you two."

"Excellent," Fred said, picking up the paper.

"Come sit down," Dean said. "We'll deal you in."

"Nah," Ron said. "I've got to go."

"Come on," Seamus said.

"Next time," Ron said as he headed for the door. Outside in the alley, he took a deep breath and leaned back against the brick wall of the shop. 'Regret isn't an apology' reverberated through his head alternating with 'unrepentant coward.' He was filled with regret, but he'd never apologized for it. Was that it? Was it really that simple? Could he have fixed all of this two years ago by just going to her and saying he was sorry? He shook his head and walked back home. Of course, it wasn't that simple. He'd needed to clear his head, get his magic back, stop drinking, and start making some money. He'd needed to rebuild himself after the war and once he'd driven her away, a simple apology wouldn't have been enough to bring her back. That was a ridiculous idea. But now, he wondered, now could he repair some damage by saying he was sorry for the things he'd done? He wasn't sure how he'd even go about it. How would he ever manage to get her alone for such a conversation? Even if he could get some private time with her, what should he say? Just 'sorry' wasn't enough. He needed to own what he'd done. Of course, the problem with that was that he couldn't remember everything he'd done, not to mention, some of the things he'd done, she didn't even know about and it seemed unwise to tell her if he ever wanted her back in his life. He was going to have to think about what he wanted to say, maybe even write it down, not that he could send it to her in a letter. No, he needed to do this face-to-face, but he needed to be prepared should the opportunity present itself. Being prepared was the way to go, he thought.

But as he continued down the alley toward his flat, his mood got darker. Surely, she wouldn't accept an apology after all this time, so what was the point? Why did he care so much anyway? When he thought about it, was she really that great? He'd had better lovers. He'd been out with women who were more fun, freer, and who laughed easily and often. Hermione was like a burr stuck under his skin. If he could only dig her out, he wouldn't have to apologize. Besides, she was hardly perfect. He'd been injured. He'd lost his magic and wasn't clear headed, and she left him anyway. So what if she was genius, and it used to make him feel special that she'd picked him? She stopped picking him a long time ago, and now she took naps with Viktor and stood up for his friends at their wedding. How long would it be before she went ahead and married that Bulgarian bastard? That thought darkened his mood further. After all, in a strict magical sense, wasn't she married to Ron? And whose fault was that? Hers. Had she ever apologized for bonding to him without asking first. No, she hadn't. But no one ever brought that up, did they?

He shook his head angrily. He wasn't going to win her back. If she wanted to come back to him, she would have made some indication of that. Somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny voice reminded him that she came to Harry and Ginny's wedding alone. _She was trying to talk to you, the voice said, when Willow bounded over. You remember Willow, Ron, she's the perfectly sweet, incredibly beautiful woman you crushed just to hurt Hermione, because she was dating Krum, and you were sure she'd bring him to the wedding._ The voice was persistent and got louder. He'd reached the Leaky Cauldron and stepped inside for a drink. He needed something to shut up that voice.

xXx

The next morning, Harry stopped at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop to pick up a cake for McGonagall's birthday. While he was waiting at the counter, he overheard Lavender and Parvati talking at a corner table.

"I can't believe how drunk Ron was last night," Lavender said. "I tell you, I really dodged a bullet there. My Seamus would never—"

Harry stepped over to the table. "Lavender—"

"Oh, Harry, I didn't see you there."

Harry waved her off. "Did you seriously see Ron drunk last night?"

"Yeah," Lavender said, glancing at Parvati.

"We were at Marion's hen night," Parvati said. "He was hanging out with some Welsh folk who were having a drink after the Quidditch match."

"Right," Harry said. The witch behind the counter called his name and a cake box came sailing toward him. Harry plucked it out of the air. "I've got to go." He hurried outside and called for Dobby. The elf appeared immediately.

"Yes, Harry Potter?"

Harry handed him the cake box. "Can you take this up to Hogwarts and give it to Professor Sprout. It's for McGonagall's birthday party this afternoon. Then go to Professor McGonagall and tell her I'm going to be late. There's a family emergency."

Dobby nodded and disappeared.

Harry drew his wand and Disapparated to Ron's flat. He was disturbed to find the place empty. He cast his Patronus and sent it in search of Ron.

xXx

Ron woke to the sound of someone vomiting. His tongue was stuck the roof of his mouth, his back felt like there was something digging into it and his head felt like someone was pounding on the inside of his skull trying to get out. He sat up and realized he'd been laying on someone's high-heeled shoe. He looked at the witch next to him and assumed it was hers. She was wearing the other one and nothing else, he looked down to see that he too was naked. As his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he realized there were a lot of naked and semi-naked people about. "Bloody hell," he moaned quietly.

The retching continued from behind a door that he though lead to the toilet. The sound was making him gag. He got up and looked around for some trousers. He found his khaki pants and pulled them on without underwear because he had no idea where that was. There was a white shirt on the floor. He wasn't sure it was his but he pulled it on without buttoning it and stepped over bodies to try and get to the door. He was grateful to step outside and into the fresh air and away from the retched smell of that room and the sounds of someone getting sick. He held his head and leaned against the side of the small house. It was morning outside but overcast so there was a grayness all around him. A street sign stood on the corner across from where he was standing. He couldn't read it. Well, he thought, this is a new low, an orgy in Wales. He leaned back against the house taking slow deep breaths in an attempt not to vomit. A silver stag came down the street and stood before him. Harry's voice said, "Ron, where the hell are you?"

"Ah, fuck," Ron mumbled and drew his wand. He pushed back the pain in his head and the nausea and thought of a perfect moment by the pond at the Burrow. He and Hermione were still a couple, they hadn't yet started the hunt for the Horcruxes and they sat in the setting sunlight with her head rested on his shoulder. 'I love you so much,' she'd said and her words had filled him with warmth and the certainty that had carried him through the war. He cast his Patronus and sent the little terrier to Harry. Sighing he Disapparated back to his flat.

xXx

Sitting on Ron's sofa, Harry waited for a response. A moment later, a silver terrier bounded into the room. Ron's voice was rough coming from the little dog. "I'm home. I got in late from Prague. I'll catch up with you after work."

A moment later, Ron Apparated into the living room.

Harry frowned at him. Ron was barefoot, his shirt which didn't appear to fit wasn't buttoned and hung open. His hair was plastered against one side of his head and standing up on the other side as if he'd fallen asleep with it wet and Harry could smell him from across the room and he did not smell good.

"Fuck," Ron said. "Why are you here?"

"Funny story," Harry said. "I ran into Lavender and Parvati this morning and they saw you completely trolleyed at the Leaky Cauldron last night."

"Fuck," Ron said again and started for the medicine cabinet. If he didn't get some hangover potion soon he was going to hurl and he was fairly certain that would cause his entire head to split open.

Harry followed him down the hall. "Where were you? Where are your shoes?"

"Wales," Ron said and pulled a small purple bottle out of the cabinet and gratefully drank down its contents. The relief was immediate. He set the empty bottle back in the cabinet and looked at Harry.

"Wales? Who do you know in Wales?"

"No one," Ron said, and slipped past Harry and went back down the hall to the kitchen.

"Then what were you doing there and why were you so drunk? What happened?"

"Nothing," Ron said. "I just met some people and went back to their place."

"Their place in Wales?"

"Yeah. They had a Portkey."

"You took a Portkey with a bunch of strangers? Bloody hell, Ron! What if they were Death Eaters? What if—"

"They weren't Death Eaters," Ron grumbled as he dug around in the refrigerator. "They were just Welsh. You want some eggs?"

"No," Harry said. "I already ate. My point is that you're too high profile to be going off with strangers."

"It was fine," Ron said, pulling a frying pan out of the cabinet.

"What did you do? You stink."

Ron sniffed at his shirt and recoiled. He pulled it off and put it in the trash. "I need a shower before I eat."

"Ron—"

"I don't know!" Ron shouted. "All right? I have no idea what happened last night. The last thing I remember clearly was taking the Portkey."

"So where did you wake up?" Harry asked, his brow wrinkling with concern.

"In a room, someone's parlor, there were a lot of other people there. I couldn't find my shoes—"

"Or your shirt," Harry added, his eyebrows raised.

"No," Ron said, a blush coloring his cheeks.

Harry sighed. "What set this off?"

"Nothing."

Harry frowned at him. "It wouldn't have anything to do with that magazine on your coffee table would it?"

Ron closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm a bleeding idiot."

"Ron," Harry said gently.

Ron's eyes flashing open. "No! I am. I saw that magazine in the Portkey office in Prague and panicked that she'd married him. I went and bought a spell book but still had to have Fleur translate it for me." He shook his head again. "So, Fleur thinks I'm a complete loser. What is wrong with me? Hermione is way worse than the bloody fire whiskey. I can't quit her, and I don't know why."

"I know," Harry said.

Ron sighed. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I still think you should talk to her. I know I'm not supposed to say this, but I don't think her situation with Krum is what you think it is."

Ron gave him a withering look. "Seriously, Harry. It's been almost two years."

"Yeah, I know, but have you two ever talked about the end of your relationship? I mean, maybe all you need is closure. Have you thought about that?"

'Unrepentant coward' and 'regret is not an apology' resurfaced in Ron's conscience. "No, we haven't," he said quietly. "But I don't know how I'd even approach her to do that now."

Harry shrugged. "Send her an owl."

Ron snorted. "You make it sound so easy."

"How hard is it to say you'd like to speak to her in private?"

"I don't know."

"Well, think about it. You need to do something." Harry looked at his watch. "I should be getting back to work."

"Go," Ron said. "I'm just going to shower and go to the shop."

"Well, try and have a good day," Harry said.

"Thanks," Ron watched him Disapparate. He sighed and trudged back to get in the shower. Once under the hot stream of water he started to feel a bit better. He didn't understand why things were so difficult with Hermione. Sometimes, he was so sure she still loved him. Sometimes, he felt it like a tangible thing, but when he would think about saying something to her or sending her a letter like Harry had suggested, all that surety would dissipate like so much smoke in wind. Then he would be equally sure it was just wishful thinking so he would do nothing. He turned his face up to the spray and tried to shift his focus to work.


	15. Bond or Bondage

Hermione had her hands on her hips as she considered Thomas' spell. Four of them, Basra, Jones, Hermione, and Thomas, were in his office looking at the structure of the magic wrought in golden threads in the air like a giant 3D math problem. Each were reviewing a different section looking for a failure in the magic.

"My section looks clean," Hermione said. "I don't think the problem is with this part."

"No," Basra said from the other side of the room. "It's in my section. Look Thomas, you've reversed the hand movements."

"Ah," Thomas said.

Jones and Hermione had moved over to look at the section Basra was indicating. "Oh, that's a serious flaw," Jones said. "If you set them right, you're going to wreck the whole section I was looking at."

"Bloody hell," Thomas muttered. "I thought I finally had it. Bah! Back to the drawing board." He raised his wand and the magical construct disappeared.

Basra patted him on the shoulder. "Good try, old boy. You'll get it in the end."

"Or you won't," Jones said cheerily and followed Basra out.

Hermione grimaced at Thomas' crestfallen expression. "Sorry. I know it's disappointing."

"Yeah, well, this is complicated stuff. If it were easy, we wouldn't be working on it."

"True," Hermione said.

"I just need to take a break and think about something else."

"Actually," Hermione ventured. "I have a question."

Thomas sighed and leaned against his desk. "Ask away, as long as it isn't about temporal theory, I'm happy to discuss it."

"It's not. Actually, it's about bonding spells."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "What sort of bonding spells?"

"Sharing magic."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "As in a healing circle or as in old-school marriage?"

"The latter, I think."

"You think?"

"Can that sort of bonding be done by accident?"

"Given the requirements of the bond, I wouldn't think so."

Hermione twisted the end of her sleeve. "I don't mean the sex part was accidental. I'm asking if the sharing can be accidental?"

"I still don't see how anyone could accidentally share their magic. It's an exhausting outlay of power."

"Accident is probably the wrong word then. Is it possible to initiate the bond without both parties knowing what's happening or without intending to bond? I mean, what if the intention was more that of a healing circle?"

Thomas shook his head. "I don't understand how that could happen."

Hermione looked at the open door. "Can I tell you something in strictest confidence?"

"Of course."

Hermione flicked her fingers and the door closed. "Impreturb." She closed her eyes and shook her head. She couldn't believe she was going to do this, but she needed advice and she trusted Thomas. She opened her eyes and looked him in the eye. "After the war, Ron was badly injured."

Thomas nodded. Like most of the wizarding world, he'd followed their recovery in the paper.

"I was too, but I recovered faster. He sacrificed a lot to get me to St. Mungo's, but it cost him so much magic that he was very depleted. He also suffered a significant magical blow to the head that left him in a kind of fog, so he wasn't entirely aware of what was going on. Anyway, we were together as a couple at the time and sharing his bedroom. When we were both well enough to, you know, be together…physically, I…um…sort of…it wasn't really intentional…it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment…but I didn't ask…I just…pulled up my magic and sort of poured it into him while we were…you know."

Thomas' eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Hermione that's—"

"I know, I know or at least I do now. I didn't at the time. It was…honestly…it just seemed natural."

"Wow," Thomas said, wiping a hand down his face. "Wow."

"I know, but I was nineteen and Muggleborn. I swear I didn't know the implications."

Thomas blew out a slow breath. "You realize that magically speaking, you're married to Ron Weasley."

She winced. "Right. So, what I'm wondering is if there's a way to not be married to him. I mean, how strong could the bond be? There was no ritual. He didn't even know it was going to happen. I didn't really know what I was doing."

Thomas smiled and shook his head.

Hermione didn't see anything to smile about. "What?"

"I was just thinking you were destined to be one of us."

"Why?"

Thomas chuckled. "Only an Unspeakable would stumble upon such a significant piece of magic by accident, because it felt natural in the moment. That doesn't happen to regular witches and wizards."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Great. So how do I fix it?"

He grimaced at her. "It's not easy. Breaking that kind of bond is a long, complicated process, rarely done. Both parties have to be willing and able to perform the magic and it takes hours and is very…intimate. Couples that try it often end up re-bonding during the process of un-bonding, because they remember why they bonded in the first place."

"But Ron never meant to bond. I foisted this on him. Why can't I just break it on my end?"

Thomas shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. I mean, you could talk to someone in the Love room. They might know a way to break a bond from one end, but I don't think so. If someone figured that out, it would be big news, the whole department would know. Honestly, the whole wizarding world would know. It would be that big of a deal."

Hermione pressed her hands to her face. "What a nightmare."

"Does Viktor know?"

"No." Hermione had a sinking sensation in her stomach. "Very few people know, and I'm not sure everyone that knows fully understands the implications."

Thomas nodded. "Yes, well, people haven't gotten married like that for centuries. I would guess most people under a hundred have never even heard of those rituals."

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. "That's just it. I never performed any rituals."

"Come on, Hermione. That doesn't matter. The ritual is only there to remind the participants of the significance of what they're doing. The only thing that really matters is the magic, and you did that part."

"Right." She felt vaguely nauseated and was getting a headache. "I really wish I'd known then what I know now. I never would've done it."

Thomas snorted. "Most nineteen-year-old witches wouldn't even have been capable of that kind of magic. There's a reason most witches and wizards didn't marry until their thirties in the old days. Those bonds are complicated and difficult to perform. Most people don't have that sort of power until they're older. Like I said before, that kind of colossal error, was an indicator that you belong here.

Hermione frowned at him.

He patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Granger. I wish I had better news for you."

"It's okay. I was pretty sure that's what you were going to say."

Thomas sighed and looked around the room. "Right. Well, I'm off to Tibet."

"What?"

"I need a break and to clear my head. Tibet is a lovely place to do that. Even the Muggles there have an interesting view of time."

"How long will you be away?"

Thomas shrugged. "However long it takes. Try not to the let the old guard beat you up too much while I'm gone."

"I will definitely miss you." Hermione hated the thought of trying to deal with the others without him.

"I know." Thomas smiled. "Chin up though. You're doing good work."

"Thanks," Hermione said, already dreading the coming weeks.

xXx

By late November, Thomas still hadn't returned from Tibet and Viktor was on a series of away games in Europe. Hermione had attended a few, but she was desperate to start the next phase of her Apparition project and her presence in the Department of Mysteries kept pressure on the committee to review it. She was sitting in her office absentmindedly transfiguring old quills into bluebirds which were quietly circling overhead. She was thinking about Ron and the bond and whether or not she should approach him about breaking it. Since she'd initiated it, she wasn't certain whether he even felt it, or if he did, how intensely he felt it. He'd never said anything about it, even when she'd initially done it ,and while his parents had clearly been appalled at the time, they'd never said anything else about it either. On her end, she tried to clamp it down as much as possible, but Ron's magic still trickled through. She flicked her wand, and all the bluebirds reverted to quills and dropped to the floor. She felt trapped. A few weeks ago, she'd plucked up the courage to go to the Love division and get a book on breaking bonds. As she'd feared, the hours long ritual to break a marriage bond required a great deal of intimacy of the type she absolutely couldn't engage in while she was involved with Viktor. Not that she had any desire to engage in that sort of thing with Ron anyway, at least not while he remained so stubbornly unrepentant about how he'd ended things. On the other hand, thinking about the bond reminded her of better days, when their love was solid and real, and felt like it would last forever. She missed that version of Ron terribly. Viktor was a good friend and a good lover, but like her, he was prone to seriousness. She missed Ron's lightheartedness, his playfulness, his easy way with people, most especially her. Viktor wasn't often playful, and when he was, there was a competitiveness to it, even in the bedroom. While he was physically affectionate and undeniably kind, he lacked Ron's warmth and openness. She even missed the way she and Ron rowed. She and Viktor didn't argue so much as he scolded her or just gave her a disapproving look and walked away in an infuriating manner. She thought about those last few months with Ron, how he'd tried to goad her into an argument, but she couldn't argue with him. She was just silent. She wondered if she'd given him disapproving looks back then before she went back to her books or back to the Ministry. Clearly, he found that infuriating.

But he'd loved her once. After they became a couple, he wasn't just physically more affectionate, but verbally as well. She always knew how he felt, because he said what he was feeling, sometimes blurting it out as if he simply couldn't contain it, which was somewhat of a family trait. He casually said he loved her over the silliest of things, and they had ridiculous conversations, generated by nothing more than his flights of fancy. She used to shake her head at all the foolishness he talked, but now she missed it. She never had silly conversations with Viktor. He lacked that sort of imagination, and so did she, but she sorely missed it. It hurt to think about Ron back then, and it made the end of their relationship all the more bewildering and painful. If only she'd handled it differently, they might still be together, but there was no point in going down that path. What was done, was done. For the time being, she still had Viktor. That would likely end, but if it didn't, if Viktor asked her to marry him, she didn't like to envision that conversation. She didn't know what to do. She was bonded to Ron and living with Viktor, but to break the bond with Ron would require cheating on Viktor. She shook her head. She couldn't do that, so she was trapped. She flicked her wand and one of the quills on the floor transfigured into a bluebird and flew up to circle around the room.

xXx

Hermione left work at six o'clock and walked back to Viktor's flat. She tried to think of it as theirs, but it didn't feel like a shared space. Her clothes were there, and some of her books, but the furniture and decorations were all his. Although, she'd gone with him to buy some of the furnishings, he'd made the decisions without much input from her. Some of the kitchen wares came from her parents' house, but those were her mother's taste, not hers. The truth was she'd felt largely homeless since the war. When Viktor was gone for days for away games, she felt the displacement more acutely.

She was standing in his kitchen trying to decide if she felt like eating anything when Dobby appeared on the kitchen counter. Hermione let out a startled squeak. Dobby was unfazed. "Harry Potter needs Miss at St. Mungo's." The house elf held out his tiny hand. Hermione took it, and a moment later appeared in a hospital room in front of Molly Weasley.

Hermione glanced around. She was shocked not to see Harry in the hospital bed, but Ron instead. "What's happened?"

Molly had clearly been crying. "There was an accident at Ron's shop today. He was in a magical explosion while working on a new piece of equipment."

Hermione walked on unsteady legs to Ron's bed. He was deathly pale and the skin was still re-growing over wounds on his face and hands. "How long do they expect him to be out?" She blinked back tears.

"That might depend on you," Molly said quietly.

Hermione turned to look at her. "What?"

Molly took a deep calming breath. "I asked Harry to send Dobby for you, because the healer said, that due to Ron's previous magical damage, he might be in a coma for a month or more. Then another healer, a very old healer, said it was too bad it wasn't the old days, because if he was married, his wife could speed his recovery through the bond.

"Oh." Hermione looked around, suddenly realizing that there should be a lot more people in the room.

As if she could read her mind, Molly said, "Arthur took them all upstairs for tea. No one besides Harry knows you're here. I needed him to send Dobby, so you wouldn't have to come through the lobby."

"Molly..." Hermione shook her head. "I—"

"Weeks in a coma." Molly looked her in the eye. "I'm asking for ten minutes of your time. No one has to know. When he wakes up, it's just a magical miracle."

Hermione looked down at Ron. Despite his considerable height, he looked small and fragile. She closed her eyes. Everything would be so much worse if she agreed to use the bond. She sighed. "Fine. I need the room."

Molly nodded and left, closing the door behind her. Hermione cast locking and silencing charms on it. She looked at Ron. She had to touch him to pour her magic into him, but it didn't have to be like before, since the bond was already established. She could do it by simply laying a finger on his arm, she stood by the bed and considered her options. In the end, she was here and alone with him, in a way she'd likely never be again, so instead of a small touch, she lay next to him like she used to. She took a moment to press her nose against his chest and just breathe in the scent of him. She missed him, deep in her bones, she missed him. Drawing up her magic, she poured it into him and didn't bother trying to hold back the tears. She wasn't sure how long she lay there, but when she felt his fingers twitch, she got up. His eyes were fluttering, but she didn't want him to know she was there, so she unlocked the door, cast a spell to hide that she'd be crying and slipped into the hall. Harry was waiting for her. He looked down at her bare feet.

"Do you just never wear shoes?"

She tried for a snappy comeback, but her face crumpled instead. Harry put his arms around her and she sobbed against him. After a minute, she pulled back. "You should get the family and a healer. He's stirring."

"Stay," Harry said.

She shook her head. "I can't." She hurried down the hall before the family arrived and saw her. The elevator was empty when she got in, so she hit the button for the lobby and cast a glamor charm so that a blonde woman with blue eyes and pale skin exited the elevator and walked through the lobby drawing absolutely no attention from anyone waiting there.

xXx

The second she left the building she Apparated back to Viktor's flat and dropped the glamor charm. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop feeling the warmth of Ron's body all along hers, couldn't get the scent of him out of her nose. She paced back and forth for a moment, unsure of what to do. She lit a cigarette, forgetting Viktor's rule about not smoking in the flat. Wine wasn't going to cut through this pain, so she went straight for the Ogden's Fire Whiskey. She poured a glass with shaking hands, splashing some on the counter. She wished she had something stronger. The first glass went down without her really even registering it, so she poured another. There was a knock at the door. She stared at it. No one knocked on their door except Viktor's teammates, and they were all with Viktor in…a wave of guilt hit her that she couldn't remember what country he was in or what team they were playing, of course that wave of guilt was quickly engulfed in the much bigger wave of guilt for what she'd done tonight. Whoever was at the door knocked again.

Hermione took a long drag on her cigarette and blew it out slowly before opening the door. She was surprised and embarrassed to see Molly Weasley standing there. "What's wrong?" She chided herself for not staying to make sure he was fully awake. It was cowardly to leave so quickly.

"Everything is fine. Ron is awake. The healers are surprised but pleased. He should be able to go home by the end of the week."

"Good," Hermione was conscious of the cigarette that was slowly burning toward her fingers and the glass of whiskey in her other hand.

"May I come in?"

"Oh, of course."

Molly came in and looked around. "You have a lovely home."

"It's Viktor's really," Hermione said, then instantly regretted it. The sympathetic look on Molly's face was a crushing cap to an already brutal day. Unable to face her, Hermione turned away. "Would you like something to drink?" She stubbed out the cigarette and cast a wandless, nonverbal spell to make the butt disappear.

"No, I'm fine, dear. I just came by to thank you. I know that must have been incredibly difficult."

Hermione realized then that she hadn't cast the charm to disguise the fact that she'd been crying and that she was, in fact, still crying. She nodded.

"Why don't you sit down? You look exhausted."

Hermione nodded again and sank into the sofa. She was exhausted. She took another long drink of the whiskey.

Molly sat across from her in the wing chair that Viktor favored. "I thought perhaps we should talk."

Hermione glanced at her, but then looked away. What were they supposed to talk about? About what a slag she was for sharing a bond with Ron while she was living in Viktor's flat, or maybe how completely she'd managed to fuck up her personal life? She shook her head, but then realized there was something she did want to know. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what, dear?"

"What I'd done, what I'd really done, when I shared my magic with Ron after the war. All you said then was that I'd been irresponsible and set my recovery back."

"Well…" Molly looked uncertain. "You had done. Later, Arthur and I talked about it, but in the end, we just assumed—"

"Oh," Hermione said. "You thought we'd be married eventually, so it didn't really matter." New tears fells.

"I'm sorry. Honestly, I've thought any day now you'd come back."

Hermione looked up sharply and scowled at her. "That I'd come back?"

"Yes, dear," Molly seemed surprised at Hermione's reaction. "The draw of a bond like that only gets worse with time apart. I assumed that alone would drive you to work things out."

"Oh, I'm to work things out, am I?" Hermione couldn't believe the gall of that woman.

"Well," Molly said uncertainly. "You were the one who left."

Hermione let out a snort and finished the whiskey in her glass and stood to get another.

Molly followed her. "I don't understand."

"Clearly." Hermione turned on her, furious at the intrusion, furious at the whole bloody night. "Don't you come in here talking about me leaving him. You ask your son! You ask him what he said to me! You ask him what he did! And then thank your lucky stars I didn't kill him then."

Molly's mouth dropped open in shock, and she stood there, stunned.

Hermione realized that the air had started to crackle around her. "You need to go."

Molly nodded and went to leave but then turned around. "You should know, I have asked him. We all have. He won't say."

Hermione shook her head in disgust. "That's not surprising."

"But the bond. What are you going to do about the bond?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered honestly, the magic around her starting to settle.

"It will only get worse with time and distance."

Hermione shrugged. "A little more pain isn't going to kill me."

"Have you considered breaking it?"

"If Ron wants it broken, he can come to me. This is his problem to solve."

Molly opened her mouth as if to say something, but then nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Hermione was really starting to feel the whiskey now, but she managed to go into Viktor's office to consult his Quidditch calendar. She had three days before he returned. Three days to decide what she was going to do about what she'd done.

xXx

The next day, the healers kept saying what a miracle it was that Ron had regained consciousness so quickly. He was in high spirits as he sat talking with his parents, his siblings and their spouses, as well as his employees and friends, who came in and out all day to see him. His employees had brought a large box of chocolates, and he'd been happily munching on them and offering them to his visitors.

"There must be four pounds of chocolate here," he said to his mother, who was the only one remaining at the end of the day. "Have another piece Mum. You know if you don't I'm just going to eat it all, and even a medical miracle can get fat."

His mother frowned at him. "You're not a miracle."

"The healers think I am," he said with cheeky grin, but the expression on his mother's face sobered him quickly.

"It wasn't a miracle. It was Hermione."

"What?" Ron set aside the chocolates. "What are you talking about?"

"One of the old healers said if you had a bonded mate, like in the old days, she could help you recover quicker."

Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You didn't."

"It was either that or leave you in a coma for weeks."

"Mum! Oh, Mum…you should've just left me."

His mother shook her head. "Not when I knew she could help."

Ron covered his face with his hands. "No…no…that's not okay." He looked up at her. "Do the others know?"

"Only your father and Harry, and only because I didn't want her to have to come in through the lobby, so I asked him to send Dobby for her."

Ron sighed. "And she came?"

His mother frowned at him. "Of course, she came. She's not a monster."

"I know that. What did she say?"

"Not much, she just agreed, asked for the room, and then left after."

"Oh."

"So, I went to thank her last night."

"Yeah?" Ron said, raising his eyebrows. "How was she?"

"Distraught," his mother said. "Funny thing." His mother eyed him. "She asked why I never told her what sharing her magic really meant."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his bed.

"But I distinctly remember your father and I having a long conversation with you about exactly what it meant, and you were supposed to explain it to Hermione. We, apparently foolishly, thought it would be more comfortable for her coming from you."

"Well…" Ron tried desperately trying to think of a reasonable explanation for not ever having had that conversation with Hermione.

"Well what?" his mother said, clearly angry. "You never told her."

"Not as such…no."

"Why not? We told you how important it was that she know. We explained how it was forever unless you broke the bond. You were meant to make the decision to remain bound or not together."

Ron shrugged. "At the time, I really didn't think it mattered all that much."

"She just woke you from a coma, so I think it matters rather a lot, don't you?" his mother said sharply.

Ron held up his palms. "Mum…it was a long time ago…what would you have me do about it now?"

"It wasn't that long ago." His mother stood. Shaking her head, she paced the room. "Of all the irresponsible, cruel…why would you want this? Don't you see the mess it makes?"

Ron cleared his throat. "Well…yeah…of course, I do now…but again, what am I supposed to do about it?"

His mother stopped pacing and glared at him, exasperated, then she narrowed her eyes. "Well, that's a good question, Ronald. Your father and I talked about this for a long time last night, because when I asked Hermione what she intended to do about the bond—"

"You didn't!" Ron was appalled that his mother was so bloody nosey.

"Of course, I did. She's living with Viktor Krum but bonded to you. That's an untenable situation."

"She's managed it for almost two years, Mum. It seems pretty tenable to me."

"Don't be ridiculous! It's clearly agonizing for her, and I know it hasn't been easy for you either."

He picked at a thread on the blanket covering him. "Why, what did she say?"

"She said if you wanted the bond broken, you could ask her, that it was your problem to solve."

"Oh." Ron was disappointed. He had hoped Hermione had said something more useful to his mother.

His mother waited. When he didn't say anything else, she said, "That's it? Just 'oh?' Nothing else to say for yourself?"

Ron shrugged.

"How did it end?"

"It just ended, Mum. These things happen," Ron said with forced nonchalance.

His mother shook her head. "Not to bonded couples. Something happened. You tell me what it was."

Ron shook his head and looked away. "She left."

His mother's lips flattened into a thin angry line. "I told her we all assumed she'd come back and work things out with you."

Ron looked back at his mother. "What? Why would you say that to her?"

"Because it's true. Your father and I can't believe how long this has gone on, so I said it."

Ron shook his head slowly. "That's not right. This is none of your business. You should've stayed out of it."

"I don't think so. When a hospital elf shows up in our home telling us one of our children is unconscious in St. Mungo's, and I know there is someone out there who can help him, you can't expect me not to ask for that help."

"Mum—"

"No! You chose not to tell her what the bond meant. You chose not to break it. That makes her family whether you like it or not, so I'll bloody well call on her whenever I like."

"Oh, she's family, is she?" Ron said hotly. "Even though she's sleeping with another bloke?"

"And whose fault is that?" his mother responded with equal ire.

"She was the one who left!" Ron shouted.

"Why?" his mother shouted back.

"I don't know!" Ron's words started as a shout but faded to almost nothing. "I don't know. The whole bloody night is a blur and parts of it are completely gone." He ran his fingers back through his hair and pulled.

His mother sighed. She sat on the edge of his bed. "So ask her."

Ron looked up with red rimmed eyes. "I can't do that."

"Why not? She knows but she's not talking. Not to me. I suspect, not to anyone, but I imagine if you go to her and admit you don't know what happened, she'll tell you."

Ron shook his head. "I don't think I want to know."

"Well, that's another problem entirely. But this state you're both living in isn't good for either one of you. You've either got to fix this or break the bond."

"I don't want to break it."

"Then go fix it."

"She's living with Viktor Krum," Ron said, irritated. "You all seem to forget that. You talk about her like's she's living down the road in a place of her own. Well, she's not. She's living with probably the greatest living Quidditch player. She's photographed with him constantly, so I can't imagine how you all keep forgetting they're a couple."

"Yes, I know that," his mother said tersely. "I was just there yesterday. She was home alone. You know why? Because Viktor plays Quidditch, which requires travel. I'm sure you're aware that the Quidditch schedule is published in the paper. You want to talk to her alone, you consult a calendar."

"I can't just show up—"

"Then send an owl first. Honestly, son, you're not an idiot. Why are you acting like one?"

Ron shook his head. He wasn't an idiot, but the idea of Hermione with Viktor made him act like one. Every time he saw her with him, he did something stupid. He pushed her, got too close, raked his eyes over her, pressed the bond. He couldn't seem to help himself. He hated that Bulgarian git. Of all the people in the world she could have gone to, why did it have to be him? If it were anyone else, Ron thought, he would already have handled it, but something about Viktor made him think this was maybe what she wanted all along. Sometimes, he thought the only thing he had left of her was the bond, and he just couldn't let it go. If he freed her from that, she'd be lost to him forever.

His mother surprised him by leaning over and kissing the top of his head and giving him a hug. He hugged her back and sobbed against her. "Oh, Ron," she said, rocking him back and forth.


	16. December: Untenable

Hermione woke sometime in the afternoon on Friday, drank a bottle of hangover potion, and set about cleaning Viktor's flat. She'd been more drunk than sober since the incident with Ron at the hospital, but Viktor was coming home, and she needed to pull herself together and make a real decision. Essentially, she had two choices. She could invoke the bond and go crawling back to Ron and pretend that he had not been a total bastard to her and have access to her old friends, Ron's family, and Ron, in whatever form that might take, or she could work harder at trying to make things work with Viktor despite the bond. Of course, there was a third option, she could wait until Viktor went on another series of away games, go to Ron, insist they break the bond and then resume her relationship with Viktor as though nothing had ever happened. Unfortunately, breaking the bond took hours, hours of touching and magic, that frankly, she didn't think she could manage. Lying next to him for just a few minutes had brought to the surface all the reasons she'd loved Ron in the first place. Getting out of that bed had been agony even though they'd been fully dressed, and he had been unconscious. There was no way she would get through the un-bonding ceremony. Since he had said not one word by way of apology and hadn't shown the slightest interest in getting back together with her anyway, she just needed to work harder and do more research. There had to be a way of making the bond weaker without breaking it entirely. Then she could work harder at her relationship with Viktor. Surely, she couldn't be the only person in history stuck in this bind. More research was the answer. She was going to have to go back to the Love division. Worse, she was probably going to have to ask one of those freaks for help. She rolled her eyes and groaned at the thought. She wished Thomas would come back from Tibet. At least then she'd have someone to go with her. She missed him sorely. Everyone else in the Department of Mysteries was at least fifty years older than her. She sighed and cast a spell to get rid of the garbage.

xXx

Viktor arrived home late that evening, tired from the Portkey ride and such a long match. The Snitch didn't show up until seven hours into the game, which was primarily played in torrential rain in Warsaw. Despite a hot shower before he took the Portkey, he still felt chilled to the bone. He was pleased to see that Hermione had waited up for him. She was sitting on the sofa with a book open in her lap and a glass of wine next to her. She'd changed her hair. Normally, when they were home, she only braided it, but tonight, it was straightened and seemed lighter than its normal color, not blonde, but not the dark brown in usually was either. He liked it. She looked soft and welcoming in the candlelight, and he felt a bit warmer when she smiled at him.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't make it home tonight."

He smiled back. "I was starting to think that too, but the Snitch finally showed itself."

"And you caught it and won the game. I know. I was listening on the wireless."

He grinned at her. He liked that she often listened to matches she couldn't attend. It made it seem like she cared. He hated that he questioned that, but he did. "Honestly, we could have been down by two hundred, and I still would have caught it just to get out of the rain. It was awful out there."

Hermione stood and handed him her wine. "Drink this. It'll warm you up."

He set the wine down and put his arms around her. "I was hoping you would do that."

"I think I might be able to help," she said, reaching down to cup him.

He moaned against her neck. "I'm feeling warmer already."

She kissed him, and his doubts about her affections slipped away.

xXx

A little while later, they were lying in bed. She was draped over him and they were snuggled under the covers listening to a heavy rain fall outside. Viktor felt as if it had followed him home. "I like your hair." He slid a finger along a strand. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. I just felt like a change." She needed to be different, someone better, stronger than she was, and it helped if that person had a different look, just as it helped when she walked by newsstands to see herself on the covers of magazines not really looking like her. Now she needed to look in the mirror, even at home, and see a different woman. This new woman was with Viktor not Ron. The new woman would be strong and confident and happy to be with Viktor. She needed to remember that; the change in appearance would help.

xXx

She and Viktor spent the better part of the weekend in bed, catching up, reading the paper and magazines like _Quidditch Illustrated_ and _Transfiguration Today_ along with books on history and philosophy. Hermione felt more at home with Viktor than she had in a long time even though Ron, who despite her best efforts to vanquish him from her thoughts, was always like a ghost in the room. She knew Viktor didn't notice him, but she certainly did.

xXx

Leaving for work on Monday morning was a relief despite having had a really nice weekend with Viktor. At work, Hermione was entirely herself. She dropped the glamor charms and left her hair down or in a simple braid. She wore traditional witch's robes which required little or no effort to manage unlike the complex outfits Viktor chose for her when they went out. At work, she could focus on research, or her projects, or just read for hours. She was completely free to be herself and pursue anything that interested her. Tangents were not only accepted but encouraged for Unspeakables. 'Free your mind to wander the possibilities' was an oft quoted motto of the department. She had every intention of spending her day doing just that when she went into the break room to get a cup of tea before settling down to delve deeply into the theory of magical bonds. As she passed the Wall of Shame, a change caught her eye. The Wall of Shame had been erected by an erstwhile director of the Department of Mysteries as a way of keeping his charges humble in the face of their brilliance. Each Unspeakable had a photo on the wall of them doing something stupid or embarrassing. Most of them took the form of drunken antics. Hermione's had been an unfortunate encounter with one of Fred and George's products, but that happened when she was quite young. She never did find out where they got that photo. Today, Hermione's frame had a new photo. She blushed crimson. There, in living color, was a blown-up version of the photo of her and Viktor from _Le Monde Magique_.

"Are you serious?" Hermione said to no one in particular.

Basra laughed.

Jones came to stand next to her and shook her head. "It's a poor choice for the wall."

"Thank you." Hermione felt somewhat mollified.

"I mean," Jones continued. "How embarrassing is it to be seen having sex with your fit Quidditch player boyfriend? You can't even see anything because of the water. It's meant to be a wall of shameful or embarrassing moments. That's practically a trophy photo. You're not even making weird faces."

Shocked, Hermione looked at her. Jones winked. Behind her Basra and a couple of other Unspeakables from the Hall of Prophecy were looking to see how she'd respond. Hermione stood up straight and smoothed her robes. "Quite right," she said primly and left the room. As she walked back to her office, she decided Jones was right. She was the newer, better, Hermione. She wouldn't be made to feel bad about being with Viktor. He was who she needed right now. Bonds and photos be damned. She'd do as she pleased.

xXx

She managed to maintain that attitude through lunch and then went home. By the time she'd walked across the street and taken the elevator up to the flat, she was both angry and distraught. She was surprised to find Viktor standing in the kitchen trying to make a sandwich left-handed. His right hand was bandaged.

"What happened?" She dropped her bag by the door, all thoughts of the photo gone.

"Just a scratch. Midair collision. I caught my hand on Mohit's broom. It will be fine by tonight. Healer Krastevich told me to keep it bandaged and not to use it until tomorrow morning."

"That doesn't sound like a scratch." 

Viktor shrugged. "A deep scratch." 

"Let me do that." She took the plate from him and put the sandwich together. "Doesn't it bother you that Quidditch is so dangerous?"

He arched an eyebrow at her.

She handed him his lunch. "Well, it is." 

"Your job is dangerous."

"My job isn't dangerous." That wasn't entirely true, but it was mostly true. More than a century had passed since an Unspeakable was seriously injured in the Department of Mysteries. "It's sometimes painful, but that's about me, not the job."

Viktor looked at his bandaged hand. "It seems the same to me. Thank you for the sandwich." He took a bite.

She watched him eat for a moment considering if she wanted to argue the point, but decided there was no use. He would never quit playing Quidditch for much the same reason she would never stop being an Unspeakable. They'd both worked too hard to get where they were to sacrifice it over a little pain. She let the matter drop and poured them each a glass of pumpkin juice. She set his in front of him as he sat at the bar between the parlor and the kitchen. "My day was dreadful."

"Oh?" Viktor said.

"Turns out Basra reads French and regularly gets _Le Monde Magique_ , so guess what my new photo on the Wall of Shame is."

"No."

"Yes. And let me tell you, Alix better hope I never see her again."

Viktor nodded, but then gave her a cheeky grin. "We do look good though."

She frowned at him but only to cover her amusement. "That's beside the point."

He laughed, and in spite of herself, Hermione laughed too.

xXx

At St. Mungo's, the healer had just finished Ron's scar treatment and had left to help another patient, leaving Ron and Michele in the room alone.

"Just so you know," she said. "I won't be here next week. I'm moving to a new rotation."

Ron was disappointed. Seeing her once a week made the hospital visits more tolerable. "Really? What's next for you then?"

"Creature induced injuries." Michele cast the spell to clean the goo they used in the scar treatment out of his beard.

Ron grimaced. "That sounds pretty gruesome."

Michele nodded. "It certainly can be."

"I'm sure you'll do great though."

"Thanks," she smiled at him.

He got off the treatment bed and stood, tucking his hands into his back pockets. "Listen, now that I'm not going to be your patient anymore, would it be all right if I took you out?"

"Oh, um…"

"Just coffee, say tomorrow, whenever your break is."

"I have a break at ten."

He smiled broadly. "Great. I'll see you in the lobby at ten then."

"Right then."

"Looking forward to it." He stepped out of the room before she had time to change her mind. He found himself humming happily on his way back to the shop.

xXx

Late that night, Ron lay in Margaret's bed watching her brush her hair in her tiny little apartment in Knockturn Alley. It wasn't a good address, but it was what she could afford for her and her two kids. As money continued to pour in for his charmed televisions and the magical broadcasting of Quidditch games, Ron felt increasingly bad about Margaret's situation. He had started bringing bags of groceries with him when he came over. Margaret always thanked him, but never asked him to bring anything specific, and never showed any interest in expanding their relationship.

Ron yawned.

Margaret looked over her shoulder at him. "Tired?"

"Yeah. I had a scar treatment today, and that always wears me out."

Margaret nodded. "You should go to bed."

"I'm in bed," Ron said hopefully.

"Your own bed. You know you can't stay here."

"Why is that again?" Ron gave her a lopsided smile.

She frowned at him. "If you don't like our arrangement—"

Ron held up his palms. "I didn't say that. I just don't always understand it. Don't you like me even a little bit?"

She sighed. "I like you fine, but I'm not interested in anything beyond what we have now. If that bothers you, it's not going to hurt my feelings if we don't continue."

Ron chuckled and got out of bed. "Nah, I'm good."

Margaret nodded. "Yes, you are, and I would miss that."

"Thank goodness I can leave here with my ego intact." Ron winked at her as he got dressed.

She rolled her eyes. "Exactly. "That's the most important thing."

Ron shook his head, chuckling, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "I'll see you around then."

She shrugged. "Sure."

xXx

As Ron walked back home, he thought about Margaret. He liked her, but her stalwart insistence on not being involved beyond late night tumbles, left him both annoyed and intrigued. In public, she treated him no differently than any other patron of the Leaky Cauldron, which turned him on considerably, because they had a secret. He wanted her like crazy whenever he went into the pub. Although, he wasn't sure how much of that was actual interest and how much of it was wanting her because he knew he couldn't really have her. He shook his head. Women were weird. He wondered what Hermione would think of Margaret, and just like that, there she was. Hermione moved with him like a ghost that was haunting only him. After so many years of constant back and forth, her opinions lived in his head alongside his own. She would disapprove of his relationship with Margaret even though it was completely on Margaret's terms. Mutual using, Hermione would say, was still using and that was wrong. He thought about her relationship with Viktor and wondered if Hermione wasn't doing some using of her own. He wondered if Viktor was too, but then he thought that was probably wishful thinking on his part. After all, if they were just using each other then they would eventually break up and he might get her back, but that wasn't likely given that they'd been living together for almost two years. They were probably madly in love and one day soon, Hermione would show up on his doorstep wanting to discreetly break their bond.

After the conversation with his mother in the hospital, Ron had looked into what that would require, so he knew, if she hoped to keep Viktor, discretion would definitely be required. For his part, Ron didn't know how he felt about breaking the bond. On the one hand, he didn't want to. He loved her. He wanted her back. On the other hand, that seemed increasingly less likely to happen, so it would probably be for the best if they broke it. Besides, if they did the unbinding ritual, he might be able to remind her of why she'd bonded with him in the first place. Maybe the unbinding ritual was the right move. Still uncertain, he continued on to his flat.

xXx

The week before Christmas, Hermione was sipping mulled wine on a hotel balcony with a gorgeous view of the Balkan Mountains. She'd spent the past month researching bonding spells only to find out Thomas had been right. There were no shortcuts. If she wanted to break the bond with Ron, it would take hours and be alarmingly intimate. She felt just as stuck as she had a month ago despite all her work. The entire issue was making her anxious.

The door opened behind her and Pietra came out and sat next to her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I just wanted to enjoy the fresh air."

Pietra nodded. "I can understand that. It's gorgeous out here. Nice warming charm."

"Thanks. What are the guys up to?"

"Highly competitive chess."

Hermione chuckled. "Of course."

That sat quietly for awhile enjoying the view. "So, why are you so tense?"

Hermione sighed. Pietra could be annoyingly observant. "This is a difficult time of year for me."

"Really? I thought you liked winter. Wasn't the ski trip your idea?"

"It was and I do like winter, but…"

Pietra looked at her expectantly.

"I've managed to get kicked out the house right before Christmas for the last two years running, so I sort of feel like I'm waiting for this year's crisis, if you know what I mean."

Pietra's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I didn't…what? Viktor kicked you out? Why didn't you say when we went skiing last year?"

"We'd resolved it by then, and with Marianna's death, you were all so upset. I was hardly going to bring up our petty squabbles."

"Still, it doesn't sound so petty. I can't believe he kicked you out."

"I'm apparently a difficult person to live with."

Pietra sat back stunned. "You said two years running. Does that mean that ginger kicked you out too?"

"Yes." Hermione sighed. "Although, in that case, he didn't let me come home the next day, obviously."

"Right." Pietra looked worried.

"Luckily, Viktor and I seem fine this year, so it's all good," Hermione said with false cheer.

"I'm glad." But she still looked worried.

Hermione sipped her mulled wine and returned her eyes to the view. "How are you and Todor doing?"

"We're good. People make such a big deal about getting married, but it's been a surprisingly easy transition."

Hermione smiled at her. "That's great. We really enjoyed the wedding."

"Good. I was worried since you were seated with Viktor's parents."

Hermione waved her off. "It was fine. We found common ground in dancing and talked about that."

"I'm glad to hear it. I've been quietly advocating for you."

Hermione arched an amused eyebrow. "You've been what?"

"You know Viktor and Todor are cousins. Their fathers are brothers."

"Yes."

"Well, Todor's father is the oldest, and Viktor's father very much respects his opinion, so I've been talking you up to Todor's father, and it's been trickling down, so to speak."

"It must be working. He was definitely warmer toward me than Viktor's mother was."

"Yes, well, she is a tough nut to crack, as they say."

"She did compliment my dancing though, so I have that in the plus column."

Pietra laughed. "Of all things."

"I know, right?" She laughed. "I'm not generally noted for my dancing."

Pietra shrugged. "But you are generally noted, and that works in your favor. Viktor's parents are pure bloods and they're very proud of that, but they're also very conscious of notoriety and fame, and you certainly have that."

Hermione groaned. "Yes."

"Is it really so bad? I like it when people recognize me."

"That's because they recognize you for your work, and they should. You're an amazing artist."

Pietra smiled, her cheeks coloring. "Thanks, but it's the same for you. You've done some amazing things: the Quidditch cushion, the new use for Dragon's blood—"

"Come on, that's not why I get recognized. I get recognized because of my role in the war. Everything I've done since is still subsumed into that."

"Not always. That _Quidditch Illustrated_ article didn't talk much about the war at all."

"But it was still mentioned. It's always mentioned. I saw a blurb the other day about the dress I wore to the Magical Maladies benefit. In just two sentences, under the photo, they managed to mention both Harry and the war."

Pietra smiled. "For a fashion blurb, that's kind of impressive."

Hermione nodded, chuckling. "Yes. I thought so too, but my point remains the same."

"Still. It's only been a few years. In time—"

"How much time? I know it's only been a few years since the end of the war, but to me, it feels more like decades. I'm so displaced from where I was then, I hardly feel like the same person."

"I don't know, but you three still make regular appearances in the press." Pietra nudged her. "I suppose if you want to fade into obscurity, you'll need to stop doing extraordinary things."

"Or stop dating Viktor."

Pietra looking shocked. "You're not serious." 

"No, of course not," Hermione said dismissively. "I'm only joking."

"Good. Sometimes, it's hard to tell with you."

"I need to work on my tone in Bulgarian then."

Pietra nodded. "Yes, you do. What do you think we should do about dinner?"

As the conversation shifted to plans for the evening, Hermione felt a sense of relief. She needed to watch herself around Pietra, who was disarmingly easy to talk to. She wasn't ready to leave Viktor, wasn't sure she'd ever be ready, so airing doubts to Pietra was bad form.

They chatted outside until the charm began to wear off. "Shall I cast another charm or should we just go in?"

"Let's go in. I'm hungry," Pietra said, standing.

"Ah," Todor said as the two women walked in. "There is my lovely wife. You two were out there for ages."

"Hermione casts a long-lasting warming charming," Pietra said, while Hermione set the wine glasses on the counter and a cast a charm to clean them.

"I imagine she had to do that all the time in the war," Todor said.

Without turning around, Hermione shook her head and said, "Sadly no. There wasn't enough food for that sort extraneous magic." She turned to put the wine glasses away and was confronted with three sympathetic faces. "We had a fire," she explained.

Todor, Pietra, and Viktor all glanced at each other.

"It was cold, but obviously we survived," Hermione said, trying to make those pitying looks go away.

"Of course, you did," Viktor said, recognizing her discomfort. "Speaking of food, any thoughts on dinner tonight? Room service? Or should we go out?"

xXx

That night, after a quiet dinner in, Hermione fell asleep on the sofa while Viktor, Todor, and Pietra caught up on all the gossip in magical Sophia. All night, she'd had flashbacks to her time in the tent with Ron and Harry. The endless cold, the fear, that sense of being hunted. _She was in the woods looking for Ron and Harry. She couldn't find them anywhere, but she kept coming across other people dead, her parents, some of the Death Eaters she'd killed, some of their classmates, the woods went on forever, and so did the bodies._

Viktor was shaking her by the shoulder. "Hey, hey, wake up."

Hermione sat up and realized she'd been crying in her sleep. She wiped her face on her sleeve. Todor, Pietra, and Viktor were all staring at her with those same pitying looks they'd had before. "Sorry." Realizing her wand was in her hand, she tucked it back in her pocket. "Sorry."

"You are okay," Viktor said. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "You had a bad dream."

"Yeah." She stood. "Excuse me." She hurried off to the loo to wash her face and pull herself together.

Behind her Todor said, "It is late. We should go."

"Yes," Pietra said. "We will see you in the morning."

xXx

When Hermione returned to their sitting room Viktor was standing at the double doors that led out to the balcony. The moon was full and illuminated the mountains around them. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for them to leave."

Viktor didn't turn around. "It is late. They were tired. We all are after the journey here."

"Viktor?"

"I am sorry the war came up this evening. I know that often gives you nightmares."

"Yes…I…" She didn't know what to say. Of course, talk of the war gave her nightmares. That's why she never talked about it.

"You cry for them in your sleep."

"What?" Alarm bells went off in her head. Was this it? Was this the pre-Christmas crisis she'd been expecting?

"You mumble. It is not very clear, but it is clear enough. You call for Ron and Harry."

"I was in the woods," Hermione explained. "I was lost and looking for them, but it was dark and snowing. I couldn't find them or the campsite. I was so cold, and the woods went on forever. There were all these bodies. I can't help what I dream, Viktor."

He turned around. "I know that. I just…I know that."

She held out her hand. "It's late. Come to bed."

He looked at her for a long moment before taking her hand and following her to bed.

xXx

Viktor didn't sleep. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling. Earlier he had come very close to asking Hermione if she was happy, but then he'd let it go, afraid of the answer. He wasn't ready for the truth. She wasn't perfect, but she wasn't bad, and starting over and risking real love seemed unbearable, and the prospect of going back to sleeping with fans seemed even more bleak. He liked Hermione. He was certain she liked him too. She was, for the most part, easy company, and perhaps that was all he needed. Better to have someone he liked well enough than to risk his heart and career on real love again. Perhaps it wasn't even possible to find real love more than once in a lifetime. He'd probably been lucky to find it once. Twice seemed improbable. Hermione was a good woman, a stellar witch, he could do worse.

xXx

At two o'clock in the morning, Hermione woke shouting "no!" as Ron took a curse to the face, and crashed on top of her, his face torn open, the white of his jawbone exposed. She reached for him in bed and almost said his name before she remembered where she was and who she was with.

"Are you all right?" Viktor asked in a clear voice that indicated he hadn't been asleep.

"Yes." Hermione wiped a hand down her face and tried to control her breathing to get her heart to stop pounding. She got out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. "I'm sorry. I don't know why these are so persistent tonight. It's been ages since I've nightmares like this."

Viktor started to get up.

"Don't. Get some sleep. There's no point in both of us being up."

"If you are sure." He lay back down.

She hurried from the room.

xXx

Viktor considered whether he should get up and take her a blanket. He was sure she was out on the balcony smoking, likely drinking as well. Hermione had so many demons. Nikolina had had none. Nikolina had been a happy person, serious about the war effort, but not much else. She lightened any situation she entered. Hermione was either neutral or she could quickly weigh down a conversation, usually without intending to, like when she'd made the offhand comment about not being able to cast warming charms on the run. She'd taken a casual evening and run it aground with a simple sentence. He sighed. It was not her fault. Her experiences were what they were, and they affected her the way they would anyone, but he missed the lightness that Nikolina had brought to his life. Hermione could be fascinating but she could also be very grim and the weight of that was a lot to bear for both of them.

xXx

Hermione was on the balcony, with a glass of whiskey, smoking a cigarette, trying to shake the dream. She took a long drag on the cigarette and then looked down at it glowing between her fingers. She hated the bloody things, but they did help calm her mind, and that was more important than the filthiness of the habit. She took a sip of whiskey and considered how appalled her parents would be if they could see her. Or, she reconsidered, perhaps they wouldn't be. They both drank. It wasn't unusual for them to have wine with dinner or cocktails in the evening. Her father smoked, although he was perpetually trying to quit, so she was sure he'd disapprove of the habit, but she was also sure he'd understand it. It might even comfort them to see her with such 'normal' vices. Magic separated them so completely that it was hard for them to connect with her. They were always loving and supportive but also confused and concerned. She sighed and felt a tear slip down her cheek.

She missed them. She missed them so much. For all the times she felt decades older than her real age, at the moment, she felt like a lost child. She needed her father's steady logic and her mother's gentle council. She couldn't help thinking that losing her parents had caused everything else to derail. There she was living in the middle of a train crash trying to pretend it was normal. What she needed was to clear up that mess. What she needed was to lighten up. Wasn't that what Ron was always saying before he told her to leave? Lighten up, Hermione. She nodded. She needed to watch herself and what she said. It was too easy for a simple comment to kill the room. She needed a new attitude to go along with the new look. Easy breezy. Lighten up. Take Ron's advice. Have a little fun. She could do that. She could be a whole new person. New year, new person, resolved. She stubbed out her cigarette, finished the whiskey and went back to bed.

~finis~

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Thank you for reading. You might also like my books: The Annie Fitch Mysteries: Exposed Fury and Hidden Fury (available March 2,2021) and the stand alone novel: One Big Beautiful Thing, available anywhere books are sold and on all digital platforms. Enjoy!


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